


War Orphan

by KathyG



Category: Zorro (TV 1990)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, California, Gen, Mexico, No Slash, Physical Disability, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-05-29 05:52:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 37,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6362020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KathyG/pseuds/KathyG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this 20-chapter pre-Zorro novel, nightmares and other premonitions become tragic reality when a very young Felipe loses his parents—and his speech and hearing--in a violent revolutionary battle, miles from his home town.  What will become of Felipe?  Can he survive?  And if he does, who will take care of him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmare!

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction novel is the result of years of research into Mexican culture, and of inventing a family, a last name, and a past for Felipe. For certain events in two of my chapters, I have two fellow Zorro fans to thank.
> 
> Robin, many thanks for the assistance--and the scenario—you gave me with Chapter 15. Ruth Parker, for the help you gave me in finding a way for Don Diego to discover Felipe's first name, muchas gracias!

_Boom!_

The ear-piercing explosion sounded ominously like thunder. In the same instant it cracked, the cart flipped over. Felipe Cortez screamed as he fell out. 

"Mommy!" 

As the seven-year-old boy screamed for his mother, he shot up on his reed mat and gaped in terror at the darkened wattle-and-daub hut. A roaring in his ears drowned out all else and his heart pounded incessantly. In the next instant, an earsplitting crack of thunder made him jump. Terror surged in his heart, and he whimpered. 

"Mommy!" he cried, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning against the wall. "Mommy!" 

"I'm here, _hijo mio_." Arms wrapped around his shoulders and clasped him against a familiar bosom. 

Felipe clung to his mother and whimpered, trying to fend off the terror that overwhelmed him. He'd been having this same nightmare night after night, for days, and he wished it would stop. Each time, he would dream that his parents were being killed in a violent explosion. He always woke up with a deep, aching feeling of loneliness and terror for his parents and himself. 

As his panic melted away, another loud thunderclap startled him. In the same instant, he became aware of rain pounding the ground. There was a storm outside. It often rained during the summer months in central Mexico, and the region surrounding the _pueblo de_ San Miguel de Bajio in 1815 was no different. Inside the hut, all was pitch-black, except for the faint, yellowish-red glow of ashes in the firepit across the room. The night air felt chilly. 

"It's all right, son." Consuela's tender voice sliced through his panic, as she rocked him. "Shh, it's all right. It was only a dream, _hijo_. I'm here, son. I won't let nothin' happen to you." 

"How much longer must we go through this?!" Felipe's father sounded disgusted. Felipe opened his brown eyes. Juan lay on his side on a reed mat next to his own. The _peon_ propped himself up on one elbow and snorted. "I'm sick of you actin' like a baby, _muchacho_! This has been goin' on too long! Here I need my sleep, and you won't let me!" 

Guilt surged through Felipe's heart. His father was angry with him again. It hurt the child deeply to disappoint his father like this. As he always did. If only he could somehow please Juan! 

"He had a bad dream, Juan," Consuela said. "He couldn't help it." 

Juan snorted again. "He's been havin' these bad dreams for days, now! I can't take much more. He's just a sissy and a baby!" 

Tears welled up in Felipe's eyes at his father's harsh words. Consuela clasped him tighter. "Shh," she whispered. "Your father's just tired; he needs to sleep, and so do you. I'll rock you to sleep." She brushed back her long, brown hair and patted her son's soft cheek with a rough, callused hand. As always, it felt gentle on his skin. 

Felipe nestled against his mother's bosom and closed his eyes. As he frequently did when nervous or scared, he inserted his index finger into his mouth and sucked it. He had taken up the habit when he had given up thumb-sucking at age five. 

Softly, Consuela sang an old Mexican folk song Felipe loved. As she rocked the child and crooned to him, Felipe gradually relaxed. A series of mental pictures flashed through his mind...his mother dabbing water on his knees after he'd fallen down and skinned them...Consuela singing him to sleep at bedtime, as she was doing now...Consuela praying with her son in the evenings, after supper...Consuela comforting him after a nightmare, as she was doing now. 

Felipe yawned. The rocking sensation made him feel good. His mother's arms felt so good. He soon drifted back into oblivion.


	2. Market Day

When Felipe opened his eyes the next morning, sunlight poured through the open doorway, forming a rectangle of sunlight on the hard-packed dirt floor. The storm had passed on through. The air felt cool, but since it was early July, Felipe knew that wouldn't last. It would become hot soon. 

As memories of the nightmare rushed through his mind, a storm still surged in his heart. The mere thought of anything happening to his parents or to him was enough to shake him considerably. 

_I don't want my mamá and papá to die!_ he thought, as he rose to his feet. 

For a long moment, Felipe gazed thoughtfully at his mother kneeling at the firepit. Then he leaned against the wattle-and-daub wall, and scanned the hut. The hut had just one room and no windows. The roof consisted of straw thatch. Rafters supporting the thick thatch extended from wall to wall. The entrance had no door, only a reed hanging that Juan rolled up toward the overhang of thatch during the day. 

The firepit consisted of a circle of stones in which firewood was arranged. It rested on the hard-packed dirt floor in the left-hand corner of the back wall. His mother's _comal_ now lay directly over the blazing, crackling fire. The smoke drifted upward toward the thatch and out the doorway. Consuela's grinding stone lay next to the firepit. A wooden chest stood against the back wall; a small crate that served as the family altar stood next to it. Reed baskets lined the wall on both sides of the crate and chest. 

One of the sleeping mats, made of reeds, leaned against the right wall. Juan and Consuela shared that one. The other still lay on the floor. Felipe bit his lip. He would have to hurry if he were going to get dressed, roll up his mat, and do his chores before breakfast. 

After Felipe had donned his white trousers and a blue cotton shirt that had narrow black lines running across it, he rolled up his sleeping mat and leaned it against the wall. At that moment, his father appeared at the entrance and scowled at Felipe. "Comin'!" Felipe said. 

The little boy followed his father outside to the wattle-and-daub barn, where the _burro_ and the goats waited to be fed. "Felipe, you milk Bala," his father ordered, picking up the pitchfork. 

Nodding, Felipe squatted next to the she-goat and placed a wooden bucket underneath her. As he pulled the goat's teats, his hands shook. He couldn't stop thinking about his nightmare. Every time he'd had it, the dream would scare the daylights out of him. 

Once, he leaned back and took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. Pain exploded on top of his head as his father struck him. 

"Get to work!" Juan scolded. "That goat can't wait all mornin' to be milked by a lazy boy!" 

"S-sorry, Papá," Felipe mumbled. He grasped the two teats, one in each hand, and pulled. A stream of milk sprayed into the bucket. 

"If you'd stop bein' such a baby, you'd be all right." Juan raked the soiled hay toward the side of the barn and spread some clean, sweet-smelling hay over the floor. 

Felipe hung his head and fought back the misery welling up in his heart. "I can't help it," he said. "That dream scares me. I don't want you and Mommy to die." 

"We're not goin' to die." Juan shook his head. "Now finish your chores!" He scowled at his son. "Only a baby lets a little dream scare him like that. I can't stand seven-year-old babies! They drive me crazy." He wiped the beads of sweat off his face, then resumed raking. 

"I'm sorry, Papá." Felipe bit his lip. "I'll be good." He fought with the guilt that welled up in him. Once again, he had let his father down, and he hated it. 

_Can I be good?_ Felipe wondered, silently. _Can I be brave?_

Without another word, the two completed their chores. Felipe finished milking the goat, then carried the bucket into the hut. After Juan and Felipe ate their breakfast of hot cornmeal mush, _tortillas_ , and goat's milk, Consuela knelt on a sitting mat to eat her share. Her husband and father went outside to weed the cornpatch. 

All morning, father and son worked outside in the hot sun. After they had pulled every weed from the rows of corn stalks and the beans, Juan chopped wood and Felipe arranged it in a pile. Then Felipe ate some cold _tortillas_ for his midday meal. He was not yet required to eat only twice a day as his parents did. 

After _siesta_ , the Cortez family loaded baskets and mats Consuela had woven of reeds onto the _burro's_ back. She draped a yellow woolen shawl around her shoulders, and her husband and son donned their _ponchos_ and wide-brimmed _sombreros_. Felipe's _sombrero_ was made of straw, and Juan's consisted of homemade gray felt. Consuela had made it for him when Felipe was five years old. Felipe pushed his back till it dangled from its string. 

_Market day's goin' to be fun,_ Felipe thought, skipping on ahead. 

The family led the _burro_ toward a nearby farm. Felipe's godparents, Paco and Alicia Lopez, lived on that tenant farm, along with their orphaned nephew, Rafael. The boy was seven years old, same as Felipe. A low hill divided the two farms, serving as a boundary. 

As the Cortez family reached the top of the hill, the Lopez farm came into view. Like the Cortez hut, the Lopez hut was made of wattle and daub, consisted of one room, and had a straw-thatch roof. The barn stood at the far end of the two-acre farm, and the cornpatch lay in the front yard. The stalks of yellow corn now stood taller than Felipe. Paco Lopez stepped out of the cornpatch with his hoe and stopped when he saw the Cortezes approach. He wiped his perspiring forehead and smiled his welcome. 

" _Hola,_ Juan! Consuela." Paco's brown eyes twinkled merrily as he waved at the family approaching. " _Hola,_ Felipe." 

" _Hola,_ Godfather Lopez." Felipe waved. 

The stocky farmer turned toward the doorway. "Alicia! Rafael! They're here." 

Rafael raced out the doorway, twirling his straw _sombrero_ by the string. Alicia stepped outside, with a bundle of dried herbs in her arms. "I'm ready." A brown shawl was draped around her shoulders. 

Felipe hurried toward his godfather, who hugged him. The two families walked toward San Miguel de Bajio, located two miles east of their farms. 

The Cortezes and the Lopezes had lived near the _pueblo de_ San Miguel de Bajio all their lives. They had to; since they were _peons_ , they couldn't live elsewhere. Their two-acre tenant farms were owned by Don Esteban de la Curillo, a wealthy landowner who owned thousands of acres in the vicinity, as did quite a number of other _caballeros_. Juan and Paco worked in his fields during certain parts of the year, and gave a percentage of their crops to him as payment for their rent. 

The two families attended confession and Sunday Mass together, except for Juan. They participated in market days and _fiestas_ together, and often worked side by side. Felipe and Rafael had recently started attending catechism class together (Rafael had been going all spring). Since Felipe had no grandparents, aunts, uncles, or cousins, the Lopezes were the closest he had to actual relatives. Rafael had lived with his aunt and uncle since the death of his parents when he and Felipe were four years old. 

Felipe loved the kindhearted farmer. Not only was Paco considerably nicer to Felipe than his own father, he was a talented singer, musician, and storyteller. Felipe never spent any time with him when Godfather Lopez did not sing to him, play his mandolin, and/or tell him a folk story, one of many he knew by heart. Of course, Consuela told her son stories, too. Most of them were stories of her own childhood, or the childhoods of her long-deceased parents. 

Felipe trotted next to his godfather, who looked down at him from time to time and smiled. The smell of hard work--perspiration and stink--wafted off his body toward Felipe's nostrils, as did that of the other adults. Sweat stains covered Paco's shirt. 

Rafael skipped on ahead. A dark-brown _poncho_ hung from his shoulders over his wiry frame. The wind ruffled his coal-black hair. 

Felipe nestled against Paco, who hugged the boy to his side. "It's a great day for me to be walkin' to town with my favorite godson," he said. 

Felipe grinned. "I love you, Godfather Lopez." Paco squeezed his shoulder in response. 

Felipe thought about the many times his family would help the Lopezes plant their crops, and vice versa...the Sundays the two families spent together, as they always did...and the many times they had visited one another just for the fun of it. Felipe welcomed every chance he received to visit his godparents. Godfather Lopez would not only tell stories, sing, and play his mandolin, he would tell jokes that made everyone laugh. Even Juan. 

_I like Godfather Lopez better than Papá,_ Felipe thought, then winced as guilt surged through him. _You're a bad boy!_ a harsh voice inside him scolded. _A good boy loves his father, no matter what!_ He raised his right hand to wipe off the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. 

"I love my wife and nephew, too," Paco said, at last. "My wife's a good woman." 

He smiled at his wife, who blushed. "A good wife, good mother—and good cook!" 

Alicia laughed. " _Gracias._ You're a wonderful husband, Paco. And Rafael, here, is a fine boy." Grinning, Rafael tossed his straw _sombrero_ into the air and caught it. 

Juan nodded. "Consuela's all right," he admitted, grudgingly. "She works hard and does as she's told. She does what I tell her and don't talk back." 

Felipe winced, and Consuela looked at the mats and baskets piled on the _burro's_ back. Juan did not know how to give good compliments. Consuela gazed down at Felipe. "Felipe's such a good boy, so sweet, so lovin' and loyal. He works so hard, too, and so does Juan." Felipe smiled his appreciation of his mother's praise, but Juan just nodded. He tilted his gray felt _sombrero_. 

In spite of the ambivalent feelings toward his father surging inside him, Felipe smiled when the outskirts of the _pueblo_ came into view. He loved to visit San Miguel. And he especially loved to go there with his godfather Lopez and his best friend, Rafael. They were such fun to be with. 

When the two families arrived in town, it was already crowded with other peasants. San Miguel consisted of three _plazas_ with several narrow streets. One was paved with cobblestones, and had a gazebo and water fountain in the middle. _Caballeros_ and their families used that _plaza_. Another consisted of mere dirt, and had only a fountain. _Peons_ used that one on market day. 

Whenever a _caballero_ wanted to purchase some item from one of the vendors, he would send one of his servants to make the purchase. That way, he didn't have to sully his hands by dealing directly with a lowly peasant, whom he considered beneath his notice and unworthy of his attention. Consuela sometimes sold her straw-woven items that way. 

Market vendors lined the edges of the _peons' plaza_. The noisy crowd chattered nonstop as the two families selected a stretch of empty ground to display their goods on. The two women spread woolen blankets on the bare ground, and arranged their goods so that every passerby would see them. 

"I'll see you later, Alicia." Paco kissed his wife and hugged his nephew. Felipe threw his arms around his godfather's waist and hugged him tightly. Paco hugged him back. 

"See you later, Felipe." He ruffled the boy's hair and patted Rafael's shoulder. 

Paco and Juan ambled toward a place that sold _pulque_ , the fermented juice of the maguey plant. Juan drank it all the time, and often became drunk. 

"What are we gonna do?" Felipe asked. 

"Sell these." Consuela gestured toward the baskets, mats, and herbs. Felipe wrinkled his nose. He loved to visit town, but not to help his mother sell or barter her goods. 

" _Por favor,_ can Rafael and I play?" Felipe begged. 

His mother nodded. " _Si._ But stay here in the _plaza_ where Godmother Lopez and I can see you. If you want to go to the church to see the _padre_ , you can, but tell us first." 

"Can we?" Rafael hopped. The women nodded. 

The boys raced toward the church. Felipe had had his first communion in late June. Ever since then, he had attended catechism class on Saturday afternoons with Rafael, to get ready for confirmation. And now, when he attended Mass, he got to eat the special Eucharist bread and to drink the grape juice with everyone else. 

"Felipe, remember when Padre Pablo made us learn to sacrifice and stuff?" Rafael said, as if reading Felipe's mind. "I hated that! I didn't want to do that sort of stuff." 

Felipe grimaced. "Me, neither! It sure was hard." 

Rafael picked up a rock and threw it at the side of the church. It knocked over a wooden bucket standing on the edge of the porch. The bucket tipped over with a thud; _jalapeno_ peppers tumbled out, every which way. 

"Rafael! You come here!" Alicia's voice sounded stern. 

Rafael winced. As he slowly approached his angry aunt, dragging his feet, Felipe watched. _You did it again,_ Felipe thought, shaking his head. _You're always gettin' in trouble._

The little boy turned around and trotted toward the church. He did not want to watch his best friend getting spanked. As he approached the porch, the sound of pounding hooves startled him. "Felipe, _hijo_! Look out!" Consuela screamed. 

Felipe whirled around. A soldier on a galloping horse was racing right towards him! Before Felipe had a chance to move out of the way, the horse slammed right into him, knocking him against the church wall!


	3. A Visit with the Priest

"Felipe!" 

The little boy didn't open his eyes. He didn't respond. He was too busy taking deep breaths and biting his lips in an effort not to cry. 

"Felipe!" 

Arms clasped him to a bosom. "Are you all right?" 

Felipe opened his eyes. Consuela gazed at him, her eyebrows furrowed in concern. Tears trickled down his cheeks. Alicia and Rafael stood behind her, a little to the side. Anxiety etched their faces. 

"I was scared!" He snuffled. "That horse almost killed me." 

Consuela checked him for injuries as he stood still. Satisfied that he was all right, she hugged him gently. "You're safe, _hijo mio_. It's all over." 

Felipe nodded, wiping his eyes. At that moment, a familiar harsh voice jolted him. " _Santa Maria,_ what _is_ this?!" 

Felipe whirled around. To his dismay, his father stood behind him, hands clenched, a scowl marring his leathery, tanned face. Felipe's stomach churned. He didn't want to make his father mad again. He wanted to show Juan that he could be brave. 

"A soldier on a horse almost ran Felipe down," Consuela explained. "Slammed him right against the wall; I thought he was hurt. It scared him." 

Juan shook his head. " _Si,_ I bet it scared him! Biggest baby I ever saw, this _muchacho_!" His voice rose in anger as he glared at the cowering boy. "Gets scared over a little nightmare every night, so that I can't sleep! Gets scared over a little accident and cries like a baby!" 

Felipe _was_ crying, now. His father's harsh words tore at his gut. Suddenly, a hand tore across his face, causing excruciating pain. Crying out, Felipe threw his arms protectively over his face. 

Juan grabbed the little boy's arms, digging his nails in till it hurt, and forced them down to Felipe's sides. He shook Felipe till his teeth rattled. "You little coward! You stupid baby!" Felipe snuffled. His father struck him again, and he wailed. 

"Stop it, now! Or I'll give you a whippin' you'll never forget!" Juan shouted. Felipe raised his arms to cover his face again. With a snort of disgust, his father stormed off. 

Felipe fell into his mother's arms and wept agonized sobs. "There, there." Deep pain filled his mother's quavering voice. 

Felipe knew she was distressed that his father had hurt him. "Your papá was just scared, that's all. He's upset. He didn't mean that stuff he said." 

She knelt before him and wiped the tears off his face with her fingertips. "Felipe—" She paused to glance at Alicia and Rafael, who stood nearby. "Felipe, why don't you and Rafael run off and play? If you want to visit with the _padre_ , do so. Godmother Lopez and I have to get back to work." 

Felipe nodded, still snuffling. Consuela rose to her feet, kissed him on the forehead, then left with Alicia. Felipe's face smarted from the vicious slaps he had received. Tears streaked his cheeks, and his nose felt stuffy. 

"You stay with Felipe," Godmother Lopez ordered Rafael. "And _no_ teasin' him!" 

" _Si, Tia_ Alicia." 

"And no foolin' around and gettin' in no more trouble." The little boy's aunt wagged her finger for emphasis. "Or _you'll_ be the one gettin' the whippin'!" 

Rafael sighed. " _Si,_ Aunt Alicia." He turned to Felipe. " _Vamonos._ Let's see Padre Pablo." 

Felipe nodded. He had always loved the kind, godly priest, who was good to children and who helped _peons_ in every way he could. Weeks before, while Felipe's father had been in jail for disturbing the peace, the _padre_ had brought some food to Felipe and his mother. He had made Felipe learn the meaning of sacrifice before he had allowed the boy to have his first communion. He had helped Felipe nurse his mother while Consuela was deathly ill. 

When the two boys neared the porch steps, they stopped for a moment. "Hey, look." Felipe pointed at the _alcalde's_ office. The same horse that had almost run him down had since been tethered in front of the office. The soldier was nowhere to be seen. 

"I bet the soldier's inside," Rafael said, wriggling. Felipe nodded agreement. 

"What's goin' on?" Felipe wondered out loud, as the boys trotted up the steps. "Wish we could listen." 

"Me, too." 

Once the two boys entered the sanctuary, the silence and calm pervading the room soothed Felipe. He hoped the priest was in the building and not out on his rounds. 

As the boys approached the altar, they found Padre Pablo kneeling in front of it. The golden statue of the Virgin Mary hung on a red silk tapestry above the _padre's_ head. 

The priest made the sign of the cross and rose to his feet. " _Hola,_ Felipe. Rafael." With a chuckle, he approached them. 

The sight of Padre Pablo's kind face calmed Felipe down. Whenever he was with the priest, he felt that everything would be all right. It had to be; Padre Pablo was a man of God! 

As Felipe smiled wanly up at the man, Padre Pablo's face furrowed in concern. "Are you all right, my son?" He knelt in front of the little boy. "You've been crying." 

Felipe nodded. "Papá yelled at me. He hit me. Twice." 

"Oh?" Padre Pablo glanced at Rafael, who nodded. "And what for?" 

"Because I almost got run over. By a horse. I got real, real scared." Felipe hung his head. "I been havin' bad dreams, too, for days, now. I dream my mommy and papá are gettin' killed." 

The priest stood up. "Let's sit down, shall we?" He gestured toward the rows of wooden benches. He sat down on one of the front benches and drew Felipe into his lap. 

Nestling against Padre Pablo's chest, Felipe told the priest about his narrow escape, about the nightmares he'd been having, and about his father's reaction to Felipe's terror whenever he had one. Rafael leaned against the priest's side and curled his legs underneath him. Unable to sit still, as always, he fidgeted. 

"Papá gets so mad when I have a bad dream," Felipe said. "He says I'm a baby." 

Padre Pablo smiled and shook his head. Sadness creased his face. "No offense or disrespect to your father, Felipe, but he's mistaken." He rubbed the side of Felipe's head. "I've known you for seven years, ever since I christened you after your birth. I talk with your mother about you all the time, and she seeks my advice on how to raise you. You're a good boy, Felipe, a fine boy. And I suspect you're a lot braver than your papá thinks. If your mother's life _were_ to be in danger, you'd do whatever you had to, to save her. I know, because I saw the lengths you went to, to keep her alive when she was so sick." 

Felipe nodded, remembering. His mother had become deathly ill in early June, while his father was in jail. Because his godparents had been working at a _fiesta_ at the time, Felipe had been forced to care for his sick mother all by himself. When she was delirious with fever and Felipe's strength had nearly run out, he had made a signal fire to attract someone's attention. Padre Pablo had responded. 

"You can be very brave when the situation calls for it. I've seen that, myself." Padre Pablo wrapped his arms around the boy and hugged him gently. "Being frightened when you have a nightmare or nearly get run over by a horse does not mean you're a baby or a coward. Your mother's right when she says your father says those things because he's upset." He brushed Felipe's hair out of his brown eyes. 

Felipe smiled again. As always, the priest had made him feel better. And the _padre_ was right; Felipe _would_ do whatever he had to, to help his mother, just as he had done when she had been sick. 

"My mamá's the best in the whole world." He grinned at Rafael, who unfolded his legs and fidgeted. "No one's better than her!" 

Padre Pablo chuckled. "Your mother's a good woman, Felipe. A true saint. I'm proud to be her priest. And yours." He kissed Felipe's forehead and put an arm around Rafael's shoulder. 

"I have a suggestion, Felipe. Next time you have a dream like that, pray that God will help you to not be afraid." 

_"Si, Padre."_ Felipe scratched the side of his nose. 

"Well, boys, would you like to hear a story?" 

Felipe and Rafael grinned at each other. _"Si, si! Por favor, Padre!"_ Rafael shouted. 

As the three of them sat on the hard wooden high-backed bench, Padre Pablo told them a story about Fray Junipero Serra, the Franciscan friar who had traveled to a province up north—now known as California—to found the first of a string of missions. Like Godfather Lopez, the _padre_ was a talented storyteller. He had often told the two boys Bible stories and stories about saints. As always, the boys listened, mesmerized, while the priest described the saint's adventures. Felipe sat still as he listened, but Rafael wiggled nonstop. 

When he had finished the story, Padre Pablo sighed. "Well, _muchachos,_ I've got some work to do, so I've got to go." 

_"Adios, Padre."_ Felipe slid off his lap. 

" _Hasta luego,_ son." Padre Pablo hugged Felipe. He ruffled the boy's hair and patted Rafael's shoulder. 

The little boys trotted toward the entrance door. "Padre Pablo's so nice," Rafael remarked. "I love him." 

"Me, too." Felipe nodded emphatically. 

On the porch steps, the two boys glanced again at the _alcalde's_ office. The horse was gone. The soldier had left. 

"Come on, let's see what my mamá and your aunt are doin'." Felipe glanced at the two women, kneeling on their blankets and chatting with a couple of other peasant women. 

Rafael grinned mischievously. "I got an idea! Let's sneak up behind 'em, all right? We'll go around that little street over there, and then when we get up there, we can scare them." 

As he bent over to pick up a rock, Felipe grabbed his arm. "No!" he scolded. "You can't throw no rock at 'em! I won't let you!" 

"Aw, Felipe, you're no fun." Rafael glared at him. 

"You gotta stop throwin' stuff." Felipe crossed his arms and glared back. "You're always gettin' in trouble." 

Rafael shook his head, and let the rock fall from his hand. " _Santa Maria,_ I wasn't gonna _hit_ 'em with it! Just scare them, is all." He sighed. "I still say, let's sneak up behind." 

Felipe shrugged. The two boys trotted down a narrow side street that circled around the row of buildings that comprised the left side of the _plaza_. They turned onto another street that took them back to the _plaza_. 

As the boys re-entered the _plaza_ , they saw Consuela and Alicia's shawl-covered backs toward them, several feet up the row of buildings. Slowly, the boys tiptoed toward them. When the boys came close, they could hear the two women talking in low tones. 

Felipe and Rafael stopped to listen. Rafael started to speak, but Felipe raised a finger to his lips and shook his head. Rafael remained silent. 

Suddenly, Consuela froze. Catching her breath, she stopped talking. She just sat stock-still, kneeling on the woolen blanket, not moving, head bent downward. Felipe became uneasy. Was his mother sick? 

"Consuela? You all right?" Alicia laid a hand on Consuela's shoulder. 

Consuela raised her head and raised a shaking hand to pat her long brown hair. "No. Not really. It happened again." She took a deep breath. 

"What happened again?" 

Consuela paused. When she spoke again, her voice was so low, Felipe had to strain his ears to listen. "The vision. Sometimes, I get a picture in my head that's so strong I don't see nothin' around me." 

"What was it?" Alicia sounded worried. 

Consuela paused again. "It's the same thing, over and over. Rather like Felipe's nightmares, only I get this picture in the daytime. In it, it's market day, just like today. Everyone's in the _plaza_ , sellin' their wares. I see it like I was watchin' from far away." 

She paused a third time. "I look at everyone there. People are buyin', sellin', barterin', talkin', you name it. Sometimes I see you, Rafael, and Paco. Then I look for Juan, Felipe, and me, and none of us is here." 

She took a deep breath. "I get so _frightened_ when I get this--this picture! I know I feel much the way Felipe must feel when he dreams Juan and I are bein' killed. Oh, Alicia, do you—do you think I'm havin' a vision?" 

"From God?" 

Consuela nodded. Panic rose in Felipe's throat. To hear his mother talking like that really upset him. 

"I'm sure it's just nerves," Alicia said. But she gazed down at the ground as she spoke; she wouldn't look at Consuela. "Have you seen the _padre_ about it?" 

"No." Consuela sighed. "But perhaps I should. Maybe he can help me." 

Felipe and Rafael tiptoed away. Neither boy had the heart to spook Consuela and Alicia now. 

_No!_ Felipe thought. _It can't happen! It just can't! I won't let it! I won't!_

"Hey, _muchachos_! What's wrong?" 

The boys whirled around. To their relief, Godfather Lopez stood looking down at them, his kind eyes twinkling as always. His straw _sombrero_ lay titled on the back of his head. He wiped his sweaty forehead. 

"Will you stay with us?" Rafael begged. "Scary things are happenin'." 

"Well, boys, it's soon goin' to be time to go home." Paco patted his nephew's shoulder. "The Angelus is gonna ring, soon. We been here all afternoon." 

" _Si,_ Godfather Lopez." Felipe sighed. 

Minutes later, while Paco sat on a porch step and told the boys a story, the church bell rang. _Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong! Bong!_

Paco rose to his feet. "Come on, boys. Let's find your mamá, Felipe, and your aunt, Rafael." 

The two families met. The men and boys helped the women collect their things and load them onto the _burros_. Slowly, the two families walked home. 

That night, as always, Felipe and his mother knelt by the altar and prayed with her rosary. As his mother had taught him, Felipe examined his conscience while they prayed, trying to remember if he'd committed any sins that day for which he needed to be forgiven. Finding none, the little boy then silently asked God to make the nightmares stop. In the corner, the fire crackled merrily, warming the room. Juan squatted on his sitting mat, clutching his clay cup. 

When Consuela laid the rosary on the family altar, Juan bent forward on his sitting mat and glared at Felipe. "Boy, you better _not_ have no bad dreams tonight! I'm sick and tired of you bein' a baby!" 

Felipe bit his trembling lip. He took a deep breath, to force the tears down. He gazed at his lap. With all his heart, he yearned to make his father happy with him and proud of him. To somehow earn his love. 

"You hear me, Felipe?!" Juan's voice carried a warning. Felipe winced. 

"Yes, Papá." The little boy sighed. " _Por favor,_ don't be mad at me. I don't mean to be bad." 

Juan did not respond. He poured some _pulque_ into his clay cup and gulped it down. Consuela patted her son's back. "Bedtime, Felipe." 

Felipe rose to his feet and ambled toward the corner. He unrolled his sleeping mat, spread it on the floor next to the wall, and knelt down on it. As his mother leaned against the wall and listened, Felipe said his bedtime prayers. 

When he had finished, Felipe undressed, put on his nightshirt, and lay down. His mother covered him with his _serape_ and kissed him goodnight. 

For a time, Felipe lay still, gazing at the room and sucking his finger. The fire cast towering shadows on the wattle-and-daub walls. Soon, he started to daydream. He reminisced about the events of that day. Felipe loved market day. Next to _fiestas_ , market day was his favorite event. It meant a chance to spend the day playing with Rafael, visiting the _padre_ , and being told stories by his godfather. And it meant a chance to see all the people as they crowded in the _plaza_. Gradually, Felipe's eyes grew heavy, and he yawned. 

_Boom!_

Felipe shot up in terror. It was broad daylight, and his parents were pushing a cart with him in it. Loud booms exploded in his ear again and again. Suddenly, an earsplitting boom knocked the cart over!


	4. Unwelcome News

"Mommy!" Felipe screamed. "Don't die, Mommy! _Por favor,_ don't die!" He shook uncontrollably. 

"I'm not, _hijo mio_." Consuela's voice soothed his terror. Her arms clasped him to her bosom. "Shhh, I'm here. I'm not goin' to die. There, there." 

His mother's soft, soothing voice broke the little boy's panic. As he gradually woke up, a new fear welled up in his heart. Suppose his father whipped him for being bad and disrupting his sleep? 

"Mommy!" Felipe whispered. "Where--where's Papá?" 

"He's gone outside. He couldn't sleep." Consuela brushed his hair out of his eyes and kissed his forehead. 

Relieved, Felipe nestled against her. "I've been havin' bad dreams for days and days." He snuffled. "When's it gonna stop?" 

Consuela hugged him tightly. "Soon, I pray." 

_Me, too,_ Felipe thought. Remembering the priest's advice, he silently prayed that God would help him to not be afraid, and to make his nightmares stop. Consuela rocked him in her arms and sang lullabies to him. Gradually, sleep overcame Felipe. 

Suddenly, he felt a rough hand shaking him. "Felipe, wake up!" It was Juan. "We got chores to do." 

" _Si,_ Papá." Yawning, Felipe rose to his feet and got dressed. He donned his white, homespun, oversized cotton shirt, his matching baggy trousers, his brown wool sash, and his woven leather sandals. When he had buttoned his shirt and combed his brown hair, he rolled up his sleeping mat. He then followed his father outside to the barn. Juan, the little boy noticed, had put on his brown homespun trousers, his white cotton shirt, and a faded gray cotton vest. His brown woolen sash encircled his waist. 

In the east, the reddish-orange sun had just risen above the horizon. A cool breeze caressed Felipe's face until he trotted into the barn. 

"Milk Bala," Juan ordered, as he picked up the rake. 

Felipe grasped the wooden bucket and set it under the she-goat's teats. "Be still, Bala," the boy ordered. 

As Felipe squatted next to the she-goat and milked her, he thought of the bad dreams he had been having lately. He pondered his mother's vision of disaster. Consuela had been having that vision from time to time, she'd said. 

Did his nightmares and his mother's visions mean that something terrible was going to happen to them? Were he and his parents going to die? The mere thought made him feel queasy. 

Suddenly, the goat took a step backward, making Felipe miss his aim when he squeezed the teats and yanked them downward. The stream of milk hit the bare earth. 

"Felipe!" Juan roared. "You stupid, careless idiot! Can't you do _nothin'_ right?!" 

Enraged, Juan slapped the little boy on the back of his head, hard. The blow stung. "Ow!" Felipe cried. 

Juan slapped the boy's face. Felipe threw his arms up to protect himself. "Do that again, and I'll give you a whippin' you'll never forget!" Juan stormed outside. 

Felipe rested his head on the rim of the bucket, and wept profusely. For several minutes, he cried and cried. His father had whipped Felipe with a leather strap many times, and had slapped him on countless occasions; he also struck Consuela when he was displeased with her. Juan's slaps and beatings hurt. They hurt terribly. 

_Why is Papá always mad at me?_ Felipe wondered. _Why? Am I bad, like he says? If I'm good, why do I make him so mad?_

Finally, his crying diminished into snuffles. As he sniffed, he wiped his wet face with both hands. Still sniffing and snuffling, he grasped the goat's teats and pulled them again. This time, the goat stood still. 

Several minutes later, when Felipe had filled the bucket, he rubbed his face again, picked up the bucket, and stepped outside. His godfather, he noticed, was striding over the hill that divided the two farms. 

"What was he doin' here?" Felipe wondered out loud. "Why didn't he stay and say _'buenos dias'_ to me?" He trudged toward the hut and handed the bucket to his mother. She was so busy he didn't dare ask her what was going on. After breakfast, Felipe and his father worked in the cornpatch most of the morning. Felipe forgot all about his godfather's unexpected visit. 

That afternoon, after _siesta_ , Felipe woke up from his nap. Juan squatted on his sitting mat, drinking a cup of _pulque_ as he regularly did. Consuela was grinding some corn to make _tortillas_ with later. A pile of dried herbs lay next to the firepit. Their bitter scent wafted toward Felipe's nose; he made a face at the smell. 

Consuela said, "Felipe, I want you to take these herbs to your godparents. Rafael's got an earache; these herbs will help him. Your godfather came while you and your papá were doin' chores, this mornin', and told me. When you come back, get a load of firewood and bring it here. I'll need it to make supper." 

" _Si,_ Mommy." Felipe rose to his feet, grabbed the bundle of herbs, and trotted outside. As he approached the Lopez farm, he saw his godfather chopping wood outside. 

" _Buenos tardes,_ Felipe." Paco leaned on his ax and wiped his perspiring face. Sweat stains dotted his shirt, Felipe noticed. 

" _Hola,_ Godfather Lopez. Mamá said to bring you these herbs." 

Godfather Lopez smiled gratefully. " _Gracias,_ Felipe. Just what we need! My poor nephew's been hurtin' all mornin' with that earache." 

"Will these herbs make him better?" Felipe set the bundle down on the trunk. 

Paco nodded. " _Si._ It should." 

"I had an earache once. It hurt!" Wincing at the memory, Felipe rubbed his ear. 

Paco patted his shoulder. "I know. They sure do, don't they?" 

Felipe hesitated. "Gotta go. I have to get firewood for Mommy." 

His godfather nodded. " _Si,_ and I got to finish choppin'. Maybe when Rafael's feelin' better, we can get together and I can tell you some stories." 

Felipe smiled broadly. _"Gracias! Adios."_ He waved and ran home. 

As the little boy approached his own farm, he saw a horse tethered in front of the hut. With a start, Felipe realized that either the foreman who worked for his father's _patrón_ or one of the _alcalde's_ soldiers must have stopped by. 

That could only mean trouble. 

Felipe halted. For a long moment, he just stood there, uncertain. He longed to rush inside and find out what was going on. A blue uniform passed inside the doorway. _It's a soldier!_ Felipe thought, as his palms grew sweaty. _Please, God, don't let him hurt Mommy!_ Swallowing hard, he made the sign of the cross. 

He wondered what on earth a soldier was doing at their farm. Was his mother in trouble? Was his father going to be arrested again? With all his heart, Felipe yearned to find out why the soldier was there before he did anything else. He meant to protect his mother if she was in any danger. 

_My mommy's the best mamá in the whole world,_ Felipe thought, clenching his fists. _No one better hurt her!_

Felipe glanced at the horse, then at the woodpile. Twice, he looked from the horse or doorway to the woodpile, biting his lower lip. Overhead, gray clouds drifted in clusters. 

"Mommy says I gotta get some wood," Felipe finally reminded himself. With a sigh, he approached the woodpile and started picking up twigs. As he slowly picked up stick after stick and laid it in the crook of his left arm, he tried to hear what his mother and the soldier were saying. _Maybe Papá's gonna go to jail again,_ he thought. _Like he did, last spring._

Suddenly, hoofbeats startled him. He barely managed to hang onto the bundle of twigs in his arms. Whirling around, he saw the soldier galloping away on his horse. 

Now Felipe could go inside, and none too soon, either! He was worried about his mother. What if the soldier had hurt her? 

He carried the bundle of twigs toward the hut and entered. To his relief, his mother was kneeling before the firepit in the right-hand corner of the hut, grinding corn, as she did every day. His father, the little boy noticed, had left. Relief flooded Felipe's heart at his father's departure. 

"Put 'em in the firepit, son," Consuela said. With a nod, Felipe knelt on the hard-packed dirt floor in front of the firepit. His mother's eyes looked tense, and she had her lips pressed tightly together. 

As Felipe carefully arranged the twigs in the firepit, he asked, "Mommy, where's Papá? Why was that soldier here?" 

"He's gone to town to get some _pulque_." Consuela rolled the stone _metate_ back and forth across the crushed corn kernels, as she spoke. Beads of sweat rolled down her face; she paused to wipe them off. "It won't be long, the _alcalde_ said, before we'll have to leave San Miguel, and your papá wants as much _pulque_ to take with him as he can." 

Felipe paused and straightened his back. For a long moment, he gaped at his mother as her announcement slowly sank in. "But, Mommy. Why do we have to leave San Miguel?" 

Consuela laid the _metate_ on the hard-packed dirt floor. "Because the government soldiers are comin'. There's goin' to be a battle. That's what the soldier said." Consuela stretched her arms above her head and took a deep breath. "Remember the soldier who almost ran you down, yesterday?" Felipe nodded. "Well, the soldier who came here saw it. He told us that the soldier who almost hurt you was in such a hurry because he had to tell the _alcalde_ right then. He couldn't wait." 

Felipe frowned. "Are we ever comin' back?" 

"Someday. When it's safe." 

"When do we have to go?" 

"Very soon. Now, get those twigs ready, son." She grasped the _metate_ as she spoke and pounded the limestone water-soaked corn kernels. As usual, the smell of sweat emanated from her clothes. 

When Felipe had arranged the twigs to his mother's satisfaction, he rose to his feet and leaned against the rough wattle-and-daub wall. For a moment, he gazed at the rafters overhead, and at the thick thatch of straw they supported. 

"Mommy, why is Papá always mad at me? Am I bad?" 

His mother laid down the _metate_. As Felipe lowered his gaze to his mother's careworn face, she just sat there on her knees, looking sad. When Felipe approached her, she rose to her knees to hug him tightly. 

"No, son, you're not bad. You're a good boy, and Papá loves you." She touched his cheek with her rough, but gentle, hand. 

"Then why does he always shout at me and hit me?" 

Tears welled up in Consuela's eyes. "That's just the way he is, Felipe." She sighed. "He treats us both that way. He's just nervous and grumpy; it takes so little to make him mad. You have to be careful around him, son, and so do I. Don't forget, son, your papá hits _me_ , too." 

Felipe winced and rubbed his bruised cheeks. A picture of his father striking him for missing the bucket that morning flashed before him. 

Another picture soon replaced the one of his punishment of that morning. As he sucked his index finger, Felipe pictured his parents and himself packing their hay cart and riding away. Where were they going, and for how long? Would the Lopezes go with them?


	5. Long Journey North

For the next three days, the Cortezes and the Lopezes worked together to prepare for the journey. Together, they went ahead and harvested their corn, beans, _chili_ peppers, and medicinal herbs, even though they weren't fully ripe yet. The women washed their families' clothes. Juan and Felipe braided ropes to tether the goats to the hay cart. Meanwhile, Felipe attended catechism class alone on Saturday, because Rafael still had an earache that day. The two families went to confession that evening, and attended Mass the next morning. (Juan stayed home on both occasions.) They spent all Sunday together, as always, and socialized with others in the village _plaza_ that evening. 

"Felipe will ride in the cart," Juan said, a few days after the soldier had delivered the announcement. "The pushcart will go in the hay cart in case we need it." 

He put on his straw _sombrero_ as he spoke. The gray felt _sombrero_ hung on its nail, next to the one where typically the straw hat hung when Juan wasn't using it. His _poncho_ and Felipe's _serape_ and _poncho_ hung on their own nails, on the other side. He wrapped his fingers around the _serape_ and draped it over his right shoulder. 

Consuela nodded. "All our things'll go in the hay cart." She ran her fingers through her long brown hair as she spoke, then leaned toward the spindle to check the cotton thread she had just spun. When she had enough thread, she would dye it and weave it into cloth. 

Tilting his straw _sombrero_ , Juan strode outside. Felipe looked up from the wood he was arranging in the firepit for Consuela's cooking fire. 

"Mommy, why can't Bala and Blanco ride in the cart with me? I'd take good care of them." 

Consuela smiled and shook her head. "It wouldn't be good for the goats, _hijo mio_. They need to walk." 

Felipe shrugged. "What about me?" 

Consuela leaned back from her spindle. "You'll ride in the cart, like your papá said." 

Felipe nodded. "Can Rafael ride with me?" 

Consuela looked sad. Felipe frowned. Something was wrong. 

"He's not goin' with us, son." 

Felipe just gaped at her in shock. He said nothing. 

"Your godfather Lopez can't go with us." Consuela patted her hair and resumed spinning. "He and his family're goin' with another group." 

Felipe froze. He just couldn't believe it. The Lopezes weren't going to go with Felipe and his parents?! How on earth could that be?! 

"But why?" 

Consuela glanced at him. "Seems the _alcalde_ said us _peons_ are goin' to get divided up into groups. Each group's goin' to a different place. You and your papá and me are goin' in one group, and your godparents and Rafael are goin' with another. The _padre_ told your father and me yesterday, after church. He talked to the _alcalde_ himself." 

Felipe bit his lip and sighed. "I want them to go with _us_!" he complained. "I don't want to go without them." 

Consuela rose to her feet and approached her son. She hugged him for a long moment. The familiar sweaty smell of her dress--sweating after a morning of hard work--comforted him, as did the feel of her arms around his upper back. 

"I know," she said, gently. "But it can't be helped, son. The _alcalde_ says it's goin' to be this way, and he don't listen to _peons_." She kissed him on the scalp. " _Hijo,_ why don't you take some corn to your godfather? I promised him some, yesterday. You can stay and visit if you want." 

Felipe nodded and wiped his eyes. " _Si,_ Mamá." He wiped bits of bark onto his white trousers and rubbed his smudged hands over his blue shirt with the black lines running up and down it. 

Since it was raining, the little boy donned his wool _poncho_ and straw _sombrero_. He trudged outside and picked up several of the ears of corn he and his father had harvested the day before. He carried the ears of corn to his godfather's farm. The rain drummed on his _sombrero_ and ran down his light-brown _poncho_ as he climbed the hill and approached his godfather's hut. Paco stepped outside and waved a greeting. Felipe smiled back. 

Godfather Lopez smiled at the little boy as Felipe handed him the ears of corn. _"Gracias, amigo."_ Paco bent over and laid the bundle of ears on the ground, then frowned. "You're not happy." 

Felipe nodded and gazed down at his bare feet, now caked with mud. Paco knelt before him, cupped his fingers under the child's chin, and raised his face till his eyes met Paco's. "Want to tell me why?" 

Felipe stifled a sob. "Mommy says you're—you're not comin' with us." 

Paco sighed. "No, we're not. I wish we could, _mi_ godson." He laid a hand on Felipe's shoulder. "I promise you this. It won't last forever. And when we come back to San Miguel, we'll be together again, if God is willin'." 

Felipe nodded. _Maybe the_ alcalde'll _change his mind,_ he thought. _Maybe he'll let Godfather Lopez go with us, anyway._ Silently, the little boy prayed that God would change the _alcalde's_ mind. 

"Don't you worry." Paco winked at Felipe. "Your mamá and papá are strong. They'll make sure everythin' goes right on the trip." 

Felipe nodded. " _Si,_ Godfather Lopez." 

Paco rose to his feet. "Want to say _hola_ to Rafael?" He glanced at the doorway. "He's feelin' better now." 

" _Si,_ Godfather Lopez." Felipe smiled at the prospect. 

For the next two hours, Felipe and Rafael played quietly, on Alicia Lopez's orders. As they did, they talked about the upcoming trip and wondered where they were going and when they would be reunited. 

At last, reluctantly, Felipe said good-bye and went home. The rain had stopped, and the gray clouds were breaking up. When he arrived, his mother met him at the door. 

"We're leavin' in the mornin', son." She ruffled Felipe's brown hair. "We got to pack the hay cart today, when your father gets home." 

Juan soon arrived, and the family loaded all their possessions into the hay cart, packed in two huge bundles. The pushcart rested on top of the bundles. For the rest of the afternoon, they relaxed and basically wandered around, all of them nervous, fidgety, and at loose ends. At choretime, Felipe helped his father feed the _burro_ and goats. As he followed his father back to the hut, he paused to look at the setting sun for a long moment. It glowed a golden-orange as it hovered on the western horizon. 

_Where are we goin'? How long are we gonna be gone?_ Felipe wondered, gazing at the sun. _I don't want to be gone a long time, without Godfather and Godmother Lopez! Or Rafael._ He glanced down at his bare, dirt-encrusted feet, then entered the hut. 

At suppertime, Felipe and his parents ate leftovers from that morning. As the fire cast reflections on the walls, Felipe and his mother knelt on the dirt floor and prayed with Consuela's rosary. Immediately after prayers, the whole family went to bed. 

At dawn the next morning, while Juan and Felipe fed the goats, Consuela rolled up the sleeping mats. She loaded them and the sitting mats into the cart. The family drank milk for breakfast. 

A group of soldiers arrived on horseback a few minutes after the Cortezes had finished breakfast. "The _alcalde_ orders you to come with us to town," one of them said. "All _peons_ are to go there, right now." 

Juan and Consuela looked at each other and nodded. They had been expecting this order for the last few days. Juan carefully placed his felt _sombrero_ on his head, buttoned his faded gray cotton vest over his shirt, then inserted his arms into the sleeves of his dark-brown jacket. Felipe donned his _poncho_ and put on his _sombrero_ , and slipped his feet into his woven leather sandals. Consuela draped her woolen yellow shawl over her shoulders. 

Juan tethered the goats to the back of the hay cart. He had already placed the two big bundles in the cart and hitched the _burro_ in front. 

Consuela climbed onto the seat while Juan lifted Felipe in the back. "Sit down," he ordered the boy in his habitual severe tone. "Don't stand up while the cart's movin'." 

Felipe nodded. " _Si,_ Papá." 

Felipe grabbed hold of the bars and gazed at the hut. His father climbed on the seat next to his wife. He took the reins and chirruped to the _burro_. The donkey plodded forward, pulling the hay cart toward town. Felipe gazed at the hut until it disappeared from view. He wriggled till he faced the inside of the cart. As he leaned against the side, he uncrossed his legs. 

The soldiers trotted their horses alongside the cart. Felipe prayed and prayed that the Lopezes would soon join them, but they never did. The cool, early-morning breeze ruffled his hair. 

Minutes later, the Cortez family arrived in town. Multitudes of _peons_ , in carts and wagons and on foot, were congregating in the _plaza_. Felipe looked around and wondered what was going on. 

_"Silencio!"_ The sound of the familiar commanding voice startled everyone. All the _peons_ hushed. 

The _alcalde_ stood on a platform, dressed in his officer's uniform. He stood ramrod-straight, and his left hand gripped his sword's scabbard. 

"As you all know, there's a revolution going on. For several years, now, New Spain's been trying to win independence from the mother country." 

Felipe furrowed his eyebrows. What did the _alcalde_ mean? What was he talking about? He knew that a revolution was a type of war, but what did the rest of the _alcalde's_ words mean? 

The _alcalde_ paused for a moment, to gaze at the hundreds of peasants as they stayed silent and fixed their attention on his face. "Throughout that time, there have been a number of battles in various places. Very soon, I've been told, there's going to be one here, so I'm evacuating all _peons_ to other regions until the danger is past. I'm dividing you all into groups. Listen carefully as I call out the heads of families." 

He drew a folded piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his blue frock coat and unfolded it. For the next half-hour, the _alcalde_ read a list of the family heads out loud. "Group One will consist of the following families. Pedro Garcia, Esteban Castenada..." He read out loud the names of 50 men. The soldiers forced those men and their families to gather together. 

The _alcalde_ then read the names of the families who would form Group 2. Felipe listened attentively. So far, the _alcalde_ had not read aloud his father's name or his godfather's. The little boy rose to his knees to scan the crowd. To his disappointment, Paco and his family were nowhere to be seen. Felipe squatted back down and crossed his legs together. 

_Maybe he'll let us go together,_ the little boy thought, as he made the sign of the cross and glanced at the sky. 

Suddenly, his hopes were dashed. For Group 3, the _alcalde_ read aloud the name of Paco Lopez, but not Juan Cortez. Felipe slumped against the side of the hay cart and closed his eyes. A sob welled up his throat, which he tried to swallow. 

"I want Godfather Lopez to go with _us_!" Felipe pursed his lips as he whispered those words. 

When the _alcalde_ had divided all the _peons_ into five groups, he nodded. "The soldiers will escort each group to its destination. When the danger is past--and I pray that will be soon--I will send soldiers to bring you all back to San Miguel. _Vaya con Dios_!" 

The _peons_ and the soldiers set out. As Juan lifted the reins and chirruped to the _burro_ , Felipe looked frantically for his godparents and Rafael. _Where are they?_ he thought, panic-stricken. _Why can't I see 'em?!_ The hay cart began to jolt. 

The crowd slowly moved toward the outskirts of town. Once outside its borders, the groups split off and left in different directions, led by patrols of soldiers. Felipe kept looking for the Lopezes until all the other groups were out of sight. 

Felipe sighed. They had no choice. He would not see his beloved godfather until it was safe to return to San Miguel. He slumped his shoulders and leaned his head against the bars of the hay cart. 

Felipe wondered where they were going. How long would they stay where the _alcalde_ was sending them? Would they come back soon? What was going to happen to them? 

_Maybe we won't be gone long,_ Felipe thought. _Maybe we'll come back tomorrow, and everythin'll be all right. Maybe Godfather Lopez and Godmother Lopez and Rafael'll get back home first._ He leaned against the side of the cart, crossed his legs, and sucked his index finger. 

Day after day, he wondered whether that would happen. The group of _peons_ he and his parents had been assigned to traveled north, even when it rained. Some of the peasants walked and carried their loads. Some led their _burros_ as their donkeys carried their possessions. Some rode in jolting carts or wagons, as Felipe and his parents were doing. 

At night, they made camp on the Mexican desert. The men and boys built campfires while the women prepared meals. The soldiers stood on duty to guard them, and to see that no one tried to run away. 

Much to Felipe's relief, he had no nightmares. He had feared that he would keep having them; instead, his sleep was dreamless. Maybe they were finally over. Mercifully, it never rained at night during the journey. 

One day, a week after their journey had begun, Consuela sat slumped and wiped her perspiring face. She looked so tired. All the peasants did, Felipe noticed, as did the soldiers escorting them. Those who were walking must be footsore as well, Felipe thought. He sat on the cart seat between his parents, looking around. 

"It's been seven days." She sighed. "I hope we get there soon." 

Juan nodded. "Me, too. I'm gettin' tired of drivin' day after day." Beads of sweat rolled down his face as he grumbled; he lifted his straw _sombrero_ to wipe his damp forehead. Sweat stains covered his white cotton shirt. His _serape_ hung limply down the front. 

"I wish Godfather Lopez was with us!" Pursing his lips, Felipe wiped his face with his shirtsleeve. 

Consuela glanced back at him. " _Si,_ Felipe. We all do." 

Felipe said no more. He climbed into the back, leaned against the side of the jolting cart, and gazed at the two huge bundles that formed their possessions, and at the pushcart that rested on top of them. _Where will we stay?_ he wondered. _How long?_

Felipe was grateful that, so far, he'd had no nightmares while on the journey. He could only hope that they would never return. 

"Mommy." 

" _Si,_ Felipe?" 

Felipe scratched his arm. "I'm glad I'm not havin' no bad dreams. I _hate_ bad dreams!" 

"Me, too! I don't blame you." Consuela half-turned to smile at her son. "Maybe they're over." 

"I hope so," Juan grumbled. "They woke me up night after night!" 

Felipe glanced at his father. Juan had not been nearly as irascible on this trip as he usually was. He was more likely to grumble or scold than he was to yell, slap, and/or whip his wife and son. 

_I'm sure glad Papá's not getting' mad at us so much,_ Felipe thought. The cart jolted on and on. 

Several hours later, Consuela looked back at Felipe. "I think we're gettin' near the place where they're takin' us, son. There's a _pueblo_ in the distance." 

Felipe straightened up. "Papá, can I get up and see it, _por favor_?" 

Juan shook his head. "No, Felipe. Too many people around us. You'll see it when we get there." 

Half an hour later, the Cortezes and the other peasants arrived. A huge rock structure with huge square holes in the front stood facing them, as did a huge, whitewashed building. Felipe wondered what they were. Soldiers milled about in front of the two structures. 

The soldiers from San Miguel led the crowd of _peons_ past the two structures. Minutes later, they arrived at an equally huge barn, made of rocks. "We're here." Juan sighed. "We're finally here. We're gonna stay in this barn." 

Felipe gaped at the huge building. He had _never_ seen a barn so big! 

Juan drove into the barn and halted the hay cart next to an empty stall. "Get out!" he ordered his wife and son. Felipe scrambled to the ground and stretched his arms above his head, yawning. Hay crunched under his sandals. The sweet smell of hay and the earthy smell of livestock assailed his nostrils. 

"Mommy, I wish the Lopezes were with us." He yawned again. "Do we have to stay here long?" 

Consuela stretched, in her turn. "I don't know, son." She looked around. "We'll stay here until it's time to go back." 

Felipe turned in a circle, gazing at everything around him. "Why is this barn so big?" 

"A _caballero_ owns it, _hijo_. He probably has lots of animals. Most _caballeros_ do." 

Felipe shrugged. He gazed around him again. _Peons_ were already unpacking their _burros_ , wagons, and carts, and making camp everywhere he looked. 

_Are we goin' to be here long?_ he wondered silently. _What's gonna happen to us?_


	6. Strange Barn, Strange Plaza

Juan lifted the two huge bundles out of the hay cart, one after the other. With a grunt, he lifted the pushcart out and leaned it against the wall. As Felipe bent over to help his mother unpack, a strange voice startled him. 

"Sorry, _señor,_ but you must take your hay cart outside. There's going to be too many of you _peons_ sleeping in this barn." 

Felipe straightened up and turned around. A man stood near Juan, gazing at him. Juan clenched his fists and pressed his lips into a tight line, a sure sign of rage. 

" _Señor,_ I don't know who you are," Juan hissed. "But that's _my_ cart, and I'll put it where I please!" A vein pulsated in his neck. "I don't take kindly to people tellin' me where I can't put my things!" 

The man creased his brows as anger welled up in his eyes. Consuela caught her breath. Felipe took a deep breath, then held it and gaped at his enraged father. Nausea welled up in his throat; he fought to swallow it down. 

What would happen? Was his father going to get into a fight? He hadn't seen Juan this angry since before the beginning of their trip. 

_Please, God,_ Felipe prayed silently, _don't let my papá get in a fight!_ The little boy made the sign of the cross, and so did his mother. 

_"Señor."_ A fellow _peon_ stepped around the edge of the stall. A dark-brown woolen _serape_ , similar to Juan's, draped his oversized, white cotton shirt. " _Señor,_ he's probably just doin' his job. This ain't our barn; it belongs to someone else. Right, _Señor_?" 

"Right." The man took a deep breath and made a visible effort to calm down. "My _patrón_ owns this barn, and he sent me to give you all this message. It's not just for you; it's for every _peon_ who's sleeping here." He raised his voice. "Attention! This goes for you all. Every _peon_ who brought a wagon or cart into this barn must take it outside. _Mi patrón's_ orders." 

Juan sighed and pursed his lips. Felipe relaxed. His father might not like the order, but at least he wasn't going to fight the man. 

"Felipe." Juan turned to his son. "Come on, we got to take the cart outside." 

" _Si,_ Papá." 

Juan climbed onto the seat and took the reins. Felipe took hold of the _burro's_ neck and tugged it. "Come on. You got to go outside," he told the donkey. 

Juan drove the cart outside, as Felipe trotted alongside. Juan parked the cart in front of the barn, then unhitched the _burro_. "Felipe, take the _burro_ back to the stall," Juan ordered. 

Felipe led the _burro_ inside and toward the stall. There, as he groomed it with a brush the Cortez family kept for that purpose, Juan joined them. 

"Come on, let's unpack and make camp," Juan ordered. "It's late afternoon; we don't got all day." He tossed his _sombrero_ on the floor as he spoke, and draped his _serape_ on the stall's gate. 

The three of them removed everything from the two bundles and arranged them in the stall. "Felipe, go outside and get some firewood," Juan ordered, when they were finished. "I'll get some rocks to make a firepit." 

Nodding, Felipe raced outside. He darted toward a clump of trees and spent the next 15 minutes picking up twigs. When he had gathered a sizable bundle of them, he rushed back to the barn. 

"Here, Mommy." Felipe raced into the stall. "Papá's gettin' some rocks." 

"I know." Consuela smiled. "You're a good boy, Felipe, to get those sticks so quickly." 

Felipe smiled back. Just seeing their possessions arranged as they would be in a hut already made that stall seem homelike. _Mommy's gonna make supper,_ the little boy thought. _She makes the best_ tortillas _in the world!_

He ambled out of the stall to watch the strangers as they made their own camps. For the next several minutes, he just leaned against the wall and gazed at the noisy crowd of _peons_. 

At last, he felt restless. "I don't want to stay in this barn," he muttered. "It's too crowded. I want to go outside and play." He sighed. "I wish Rafael was here. It's no fun without him! Why'd the _alcalde_ have to send them somewhere else?" 

Without thinking, he walked toward the front entrance. As he stepped outside, the flood of sunlight hurt his eyes. He rubbed them, then stopped to look around. 

The flood of _peons_ had not ceased. More and more were arriving from every direction. Even Felipe, little as he was, could see that the barn could not possibly hold them all. "Where will they go?" he wondered. 

He saw the man who had ordered the _peons_ to take their carts and wagons outside raise his hands and blow a whistle. The crowds of _peons_ stopped to listen. 

"You can't stay in this barn," he shouted. "It's got as many as it'll hold. You'll have to go to a place the _alcalde_ has picked out for you all. It's 10 miles on the other side of town. Follow the soldiers and _vaqueros_ , and they'll take you there." 

The _peons_ followed a group of men on horseback. Some were clearly soldiers, judging from their uniforms. Others wore the attire of _vaqueros_. Felipe wondered where this other place was. 

Felipe trotted down the cobblestone-lined street, curious as to where it led. He wanted to see everything. He couldn't wait to explore this _pueblo_ , to see who lived here and what buildings there were. His sandals clicked on the cobblestones. 

The narrow street led to a crowded _plaza_. For a long moment, Felipe just stood there, watching the people as they hurried here and there. 

Suddenly, the boy's eyes caught sight of another street on the other side of the _plaza_. "Where does it go?" he wondered. 

Before he knew it, Felipe was racing toward that street. He darted down it till he reached another _plaza_. It was just as crowded as the first one. He wandered around the edge of the _plaza_ , gazing at the wares of the busy market vendors. Rubbing the back of his neck, Felipe stared at the crowd of people moving helter-skelter. 

Faint growls in his stomach reminded Felipe that his mother was making supper. He glanced at the sky; the orange sun was dipping toward the horizon. 

_I got to go back,_ Felipe thought. _But where's the street I took?_

He scanned the _plaza_ , looking for that street. Four streets ended at that _plaza_ , one on each side. Any of them could be the right one. 

Panic seized the child. _Where am I?_ he wondered. _Where's the barn? Where's my mamá and papá? I'm lost!_


	7. The Calm Before the Storm

As Felipe frantically scanned the _plaza_ , trying to find the street that would take him back toward the barn, his palms grew sweaty. A sob rose in his throat; he fought to swallow it down. 

_I'm lost,_ he thought. _Help me, God!_ Por favor _!_

In the next instant, a familiar voice screamed, "Felipe! Felipe!" 

Felipe whirled toward the left. His mother rushed toward him, anxiety etched on her face. Her yellow shawl flapped incessantly. 

"Mommy!" Felipe darted toward her and fell into her arms. "I was lost! I was scared!" 

"Shh, you're safe, now." Consuela clasped him to her bosom until he stopped shaking. The smell of her perspiration enveloped the boy. "Let's go back, _hijo mio_. I got to cook supper." She glanced at the darkening sky. "It'll be dark, soon. Felipe, you had me scared, runnin' off like that!" she scolded. 

"I'm sorry." Felipe buried his face in her bosom as she hugged him tightly. 

Minutes later, inside the barn, Consuela paused to wag her finger. "Felipe, don't _ever_ wander off like that again! You had me worried sick." 

Felipe nodded. " _Si,_ Mommy." 

"In fact, don't leave this barn unless you tell me where you're goin,' and don't go into town unless I go with you." She wiped her perspiring face. 

Reluctantly, Felipe nodded. He would have liked to explore the village in the future, but he had to obey his mother. 

"Tomorrow, son, we'll go to town, you and me," Consuela promised. "We'll explore it together. Tonight, we got to stay in the barn. It's too late to play outside." 

"Can I go anywhere in the barn?" Felipe bent over to scratch his big toe. 

Consuela paused for a moment. "I'd rather you didn't. Not tonight. Everyone has to get ready for supper now, and you'll just get in their way." 

Felipe nodded, and sat cross-legged on the hay-covered barn floor. His father had swept the hay out of one corner of the stall and built a firepit there. A fire blazed in it now, and Consuela's _comal_ sat on top of the rocks. Consuela knelt there to prepare supper. A few moments later, three _tortillas_ sizzled on the _comal_. 

Juan soon joined them, and when supper was ready, all three sat on the floor. Consuela nodded to Felipe. The little boy bowed his head. 

"Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord," Felipe prayed. "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, amen." He made the sign of the cross and opened his eyes. 

Father and son ate the fresh, hot _tortillas_ and drank their clay cups of fresh, sweet goat's milk. As custom dictated, Consuela waited till her husband and son had eaten before she ate her share. 

When Consuela had swallowed the last bite, the family members bowed their heads again. "We give Thee thanks, Almighty God, for these and all Thy gifts, which we have received from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord," Consuela prayed. "In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, amen." Felipe blessed himself again, and looked up. 

When Consuela had washed the dishes, she picked her wooden rosary up off the makeshift altar she had set up against the wall. "Time for evenin' prayers, son." 

Felipe joined her next to the altar and bowed his head. His father had never joined his family for prayer or--except on rare occasions--attended Mass. Nor did he pray with his family now. He sat cross-legged in the opposite corner and drank his _pulque_ , as always. 

Kneeling on the hay-covered ground, Consuela and Felipe took turns praying with her rosary. As each prayed, he or she would finger the smooth, wooden beads to keep track of the decades. "Hail, Mary full of grace, pray for us now and in the hour of our death," they took turns praying. A sense of peace calmed Felipe's heart while they did. All the while, Felipe silently examined his conscience, as his mother and Padre Pablo had taught him. 

When they had finished, Felipe unrolled his sleeping mat and lay down, said his bedtime prayers, and closed his eyes. Consuela kissed him good night. 

The next morning, after breakfast, Juan left the barn to look around. Consuela arched her back and sighed. "Well, Felipe, shall we go explorin'?" 

Felipe grinned broadly. He hopped up and down. " _Si,_ Mommy! _Si!_ " Laughing, his mother ruffled his hair. She draped her shawl around her shoulders, and Felipe donned his _sombrero_ and his _poncho_. 

The two of them left the barn to look around the town. A cool breeze caressed Felipe's cheeks and ruffled his hair as he trotted alongside his mother. They went up one street and down another, and explored each _plaza_. They stopped at each market stall to examine its wares. 

All the while, Felipe couldn't shake an uneasy feeling that lay deep in his gut. A feeling, too deep in his heart for a seven-year-old to express, of impending disaster. A feeling that something terrible was going to happen, and soon. He hadn't had any nightmares since before the trip, nor did he think about them much, but from time to time, he'd had what felt like a premonition. That premonition welled up in him now, making a hint of nausea well up in his throat. Sweat broke out on his palms. 

_Nothin' bad's gonna happen,_ he told himself fiercely. _Nothin'. Mommy and Papá won't let it!_

At last, Consuela and Felipe walked toward the two structures that had greeted them upon their arrival. For a long moment, Felipe gaped at them, awed at their size and wondering what they were. A soldier told them that the huge, two-sided structure with the huge, rectangular holes was called a bastion. 

"We built it recently in case there's a siege," he explained. "Some of the _peons_ who live here have joined the rebel army, and the government doesn't like that too much. Some of the refugee _peons_ stayin' in the barn have joined, too, since their arrival." He smiled wryly. 

Suddenly, a mental picture of the nightmares Felipe had endured repeatedly rose before him now. In the same instant, he recalled his mother's conversation with his godmother about her terrifying vision of looking at the San Miguel _plaza_ and not seeing any member of her family there. Were her vision and his nightmare going to come true? Felipe shivered. 

"What's wrong?" Consuela furrowed her eyebrows as she glanced down at her frowning son. 

"Mommy, what if--" Felipe paused. "Mommy, if anythin' real bad happens, what'll we do?" 

Consuela knelt before him and kissed his soft cheek. "Well, son, if anything does, your papá and I'll do all we can to protect you. Like always." She smiled. "We won't let anythin' bad happen to you, Felipe." She patted his arm. The touch of her callused hand felt good on his arm. 

Felipe smiled wanly. He didn't doubt for a minute that they would try to protect him, but for once, his heart was not reassured by her promise. The uneasy feeling still lay in the pit of his stomach. As they returned to town and went to the fountain to get a drink of water, Felipe silently prayed that God would protect them. The little boy thrust his index finger into his mouth and sucked it, as he so often did when nervous or frightened. 

From the second night onward, the refugees gathered in the barn to sing, dance, and play music. Those who had their own musical instruments played lively folk songs. Everyone clapped their hands and sang, including Felipe and his parents. 

After a while, someone would leap to his feet to dance. Soon, others would join him. Felipe would scramble to his feet and join the lively folk dance; soon, so would Consuela. Juan would stay seated on the floor or on a pile of hay, and drink his _pulque_. 

Felipe's only regret, during those times, was that Godfather Lopez wasn't here to take part in the singing and dancing. With his mandolin, he could have really added to the fun. And before the fun began, he could have told stories to Felipe and Rafael, as he always had whenever they got together. 

_I love to sing,_ Felipe thought. _It's such fun. I love to dance. I love hearin' stories, too!_

By day, the Cortezes tried to make the daily schedule as normal as possible. Morning and night, Juan and Felipe fed, watered, and groomed the animals, and Felipe milked the she-goat. Since Consuela hadn't been able to bring with her the instruments necessary to spin cotton into thread, she was limited to weaving into cloth the thread she had brought with her. She would tie one end of the loom to a post and the other end around her waist, and weave as she always did. In addition, she spent part of her time grinding corn, as always. She made _tortillas_ twice every day, for meals. 

Consuela also wove hay to make baskets and mats. When the products were ready, mother and son would go into town to get some water from one of the _plaza_ fountains, and to trade the straw goods for things they needed, including thread. A priest held Mass in the barn on Sundays and confession on Saturdays and Wednesdays. Felipe and his mother never failed to attend. 

Felipe noticed that some of their fellow refugees were moving out of the barn. He wondered where they were going, and whether they were the same refugees who had joined the rebel army. 

Juan had changed since the Cortez family had arrived here. Not only did he not get mad and violent as easily, he scarcely seemed to notice that his wife and son were there. He paid little attention to them. The few times Felipe tried to engage his father's attention, Juan would shoo him away as one would a pesky fly. 

"Mommy, how come Papá won't talk to us?" Felipe complained, once, while he and his mother took their daily stroll through the crowded _plazas_. "When I say somethin', he says 'Go away, Felipe; I'm busy!" 

Consuela sighed. "He's got somethin' big on his mind, and he can't stop thinkin' about it." Felipe frowned, as he wondered what that could be. 

A few days later, two weeks after the Cortezes had arrived in this unfamiliar _pueblo_ , Consuela and Felipe walked into town, as usual, each carrying several straw objects. This time, Juan came with them. 

"I need to get me some _pulque_ ," he said, shortly, when his wife asked him what he was going to do. Consuela said no more. Juan tilted his gray felt _sombrero_ to protect his face from the sun. His brown jacket hung unbuttoned over his gray cotton vest and white, unbleached shirt; his woolen sash held up his brown trousers. Felipe had donned his own white shirt and matching trousers. He had left his _poncho_ and _serape_ in the barn. 

As Consuela traded the mats and baskets for some corn and beans, Felipe played by himself in the _plaza_. He pretended he was a bullfighter, then played that he was a _vaquero_. Once, he saw his father talking with a _peon_ he'd seen in the barn several times before. Juan pressed his lips into a tight line, then stalked away. When Felipe's parents had gotten what they had come to get, the three returned to the barn. 

As they entered the stall, the three family members froze. "The goats! The _burro_!" Juan's bronze face turned beet-red as he spoke. "They're _gone_!" 

Felipe's heart plummeted to the bottom of his stomach. The animals had indeed vanished. The family possessions lay arranged as they had for two weeks, but the _burro_ and goats were not there. 

Felipe raced toward the front entrance. What about the hay cart? Was it gone, too? 

He spent the next several minutes outside, searching for the cart, but could not find it. It had disappeared, too. When his parents came outside to look for him, Felipe rushed toward them. 

"I can't find the hay cart!" He grabbed his mother's sleeve. "It's gone, too!" 

Juan pressed his lips into a tight line. "They're all gone!" 

Felipe noticed that the other wagons and carts lining the outside of the barn had also disappeared. Juan marched toward the edge of the barn and disappeared around the corner. His wife and son stood silently and waited for him to return. A breeze caressed Felipe's face and ruffled his brown hair, but he paid no attention to it. 

Minutes later, Juan rejoined them. "They're not anywhere. No one's even seen them. All we've got left is the pushcart." His voice sounded grim. "And we're not gonna get 'em back, either. Someone stole the other _peons'_ animals and wagons and carts, too. The soldiers, no doubt." Juan pressed his lips together into a thin line. "The _alcalde's_ not even goin' to try to help us get our things back!" His voice rose in anger as he spoke. He swore. 

Consuela moaned and leaned against the wall. Felipe's hands shook. "The rebel soldiers?" Consuela's voice shook. 

Juan shook his head. "No. The--the others. The government soldiers." He glared fiercely toward at the barn entrance. "We've been branded rebels, Consuela. Every _peon_ stayin' in this barn! You know that _peon_ I talked with in town?" His wife nodded. "He told me. They've taken all our carts and wagons so we can't escape." He grimaced. "Without our _burro_ and cart, we're stuck." 

"Oh, Juan, what are we goin' to do?" Consuela took a deep breath and made the sign of the cross. 

Juan sighed. "I don't know." He paused. "But we got to do somethin'. We've been here for two weeks now; surely, _our alcalde'll_ be sendin' for us, soon. We got to start seein' about gettin' us a new cart and _burro_. If we can't, we'll just have to walk back to San Miguel. Later, we'll have to see about a couple of new goats." He shook his head. "You better pray for us, Consuela. We're in _real_ trouble! _All_ of us!" 

Consuela took a deep breath and pressed her lips together. Felipe knew what that meant. She meant to endure this new misfortune without a word of complaint. What couldn't be cured had to be endured. 

Hesitantly, Felipe wrapped his arms around his crestfallen mother. "I love you, Mommy." 

Consuela smiled wanly and hugged him back. "I love you, too, son." She kissed his forehead. "You're the best son anyone could pray for." Felipe smiled. 

That evening, the refugees got together to sing and dance, as they had every night for two weeks. The enjoyment was not genuine, though; to Felipe, it sounded forced. As always, however, he loved the singing, dancing, and music, but this time, he couldn't stop wishing that his father had been able to find the _burro_ and the goats. He did _not_ want to walk all the way back to San Miguel! Nor could he stop wondering why they were in trouble, and what his father had meant about their being branded rebels. 

Soon, Felipe started yawning. His surroundings looked slightly blurred, so he rubbed his eyes. After making a valiant effort to stay awake, he leaned against his mother's side and closed his eyes. The music and singing went on and on. 

Suddenly, a distant _boom_! startled him. He opened his eyes; it was morning, and he was lying on his sleeping mat. His parents were gaping at each other, their faces pale, their hands shaking. What on earth had happened?


	8. Siege!

"Siege!" One of the _peons_ rushed past the Cortezes' stall. "We're under siege! The government soldiers have come!" 

Felipe froze. "Mommy, what--uh, what does that mean?" 

Consuela patted the ground next to her; Felipe crawled toward her and climbed on her lap. The familiar sweaty stink of her clothes wafted toward Felipe's nostrils as he nestled against her bosom. "There's a battle," she said. "Not here, but close." 

"Too close." Juan pursed his lips. "We can't leave the town now, even if we had the cart and _burro_. It's not even safe to go to the _plaza_ to get any water." 

All the time they spoke, cannonballs exploded repeatedly in the distance. Felipe had occasionally overheard them in San Miguel, but never before had they meant danger for him. 

"What does it mean, Juan?" Consuela hugged Felipe to her side. 

"Like I told you, yesterday, we've been branded rebels." Juan spat on the ground. "Some of the men stayin' in this barn joined the rebel army, and now the government's goin' to punish us all." 

Consuela turned to her son. "Felipe, we must _never_ leave this barn, except to go to the _plaza_ fountain or an outhouse," she warned. "Not until it's over." 

Felipe wrapped his arms around his mother's neck and scrooged his eyes shut. The distant booming echoed in his ears. "That's cannonfire," Consuela explained. "The soldiers are shootin' off cannons." 

Panic surged in the little boy's heart. His heart pounded. What was going to happen? 

"Mommy, I'm scared!" he whispered. 

Consuela clasped him tightly and rocked him back and forth. "The fightin' is not here, Felipe. We will pray it don't come here." 

When Felipe opened his eyes, he saw his father's eyes rest on him, disgust evident in them. Without a word, Juan rose to his feet, draped his folded _serape_ over his shoulder, placed his straw _sombrero_ on his head, and left the stall. 

Guilt welled up in Felipe's heart. _He thinks I'm bein' a baby,_ he thought, pouting. _I'm a bad boy. I'm not supposed to be scared. Papá's not scared. He never is._ He inserted his finger into his mouth and sucked it. 

That morning was the beginning of a long, terrifying ordeal, and of a deep, intense struggle within Felipe's heart. Day after day, the cannonballs exploded incessantly. Some of them exploded near the _pueblo_ , hurting Felipe's ears, but fortunately, none of them injured or killed any of its residents or refugees. Felipe's parents forbade him to ever leave the barn without their express permission. Too scared to risk it, Felipe obeyed. 

Twice a day, Felipe would accompany his mother into town, so they could get some water, and relieve themselves if they needed to. The streets and _plazas_ were mostly empty. People were afraid to go outside unless they just had to. In the distance, the cannonfire went on and on. The nightly songfests ceased. 

For hours at a stretch, Felipe would nestle in his mother's arms and suck his finger, while his father stood guard in the doorway, alert for danger to his family. Felipe knew that Juan was determined to protect his wife and son if he could possibly do so. Even if he had to put himself in harm's way, he would do it. And so would Consuela, if that was what it took to save her son. 

"Pray the soldiers never get here," Felipe overheard a man say in the next stall, once. The little boy leaned against his mother's chest and listened. "If they do, they'll kill us all." 

Felipe gaped at his mother as fear surged through his heart once again. Consuela hugged him. 

"Your papá'll do everythin' he can, to keep that from happenin', _mijo_." 

Felipe nodded. That was true. His father was a fighter, brave and strong, and he would certainly do all he could to guard his family. 

_Papá's never scared,_ Felipe thought, ruefully. _Mommy's brave, too. Guess_ I'm _the only coward. I'm a bad boy._

Again and again, his father's angry accusations replayed over and over in Felipe's mind. Even though his father was now too preoccupied to scold or punish his son, Felipe couldn't stop thinking about it. Try as he did, he couldn't shut his father's scoldings out. Was he a baby? Was he a coward? 

_I wish I was brave and strong like Papá,_ he thought. _Like he wants me to be. Maybe if I was, he wouldn't be so mad at me all the time._

Every day, while Consuela held her little boy in her arms, she would pick up her rosary and pray for protection. Together, she and her son would take turns praying with it until both felt better. _Please, God, help me be brave,_ Felipe would pray silently. _Please protect us from those soldiers!_


	9. A Brave Boy

One morning, Felipe woke up. Silence pervaded the barn and the surrounding region; the shelling had stopped. What was going on? His mother was frying some _tortillas_ on her _comal_ ; the sizzling and the good smell filled the stall. Felipe's father was nowhere to be seen. 

"Where's Papá?" Felipe asked. 

"I don't know." Consuela flipped one of the _tortillas_ over. "He didn't tell me where he was goin'." 

Felipe yawned. "Is it over? Can we go home now?" 

Consuela smiled ruefully. "No, _hijo mio_. Not till the _alcalde_ says we can. Perhaps the siege is over. I hope so." 

_Me, too,_ Felipe thought. 

He donned his white cotton shirt and matching cotton trousers, and wrapped his wool sash around his waist. As it typically did, the bottom of his shirt hung down below the encircling sash, since he never tucked his shirt in. His mother dropped another _tortilla_ onto the comal. It sizzled as it started to turn brown. 

When Juan returned, the _tortillas_ were ready. After Consuela asked the blessing, the family silently ate breakfast. 

"It's goin' to start up again," Juan said, when breakfast was over. "This afternoon." He glanced down at his white, homespun cotton shirt as he spoke. 

Consuela sighed. "I'll go to the _plaza_ and get some water, then." She shook her head. "It feels like we've been cooped up in this barn forever." 

Juan nodded agreement. "It's been two weeks since this fightin' started; a month since we came here. _Si,_ feels like forever." He glared at the entrance. "They're not goin' to give up. Just because some of us became rebels, they think we all are." 

Consuela rose to her feet and picked up the water bucket. "I'll be back." She kissed her husband, then her son. Felipe watched her go. 

A moment later, Juan threw his folded _serape_ over his shoulder, put on his straw _sombrero_ , and left the stall. Suddenly, Felipe felt lonely. _I want Mommy,_ he thought. _I'll go find her._

He raced out of the barn and rushed toward the _plaza_. As he reached the edge, he saw his mother dip the bucket into the fountain, and raise it up, dripping. 

Suddenly, a crowd of people entered the _plaza_. As they ambled through, a gunshot startled Felipe. _What was that?!_ he thought, jumping. 

The crowd of men and women halted, then raced through the middle of the _plaza_. Dropping the bucket, Consuela threw her arms over her face and screamed. Several men slammed against her, knocking her to the ground. 

"Mommy!" Felipe screamed. "Mommy!" 

The little boy pushed and shoved his way through the throng. He threw his body over his mother's face. _"Don't you hurt my mommy!"_ he screamed. 

Startled again, the crowd froze and stared down in silence at the outraged boy and his terror-stricken mother. In that instant, before anyone had a chance to react, the priest who conducted Mass in the barn for the refugees shoved his way through the crowd and bent over the two. "Are you all right?" he asked Consuela. Concern etched his face. 

Without waiting for an answer, he straightened up and ordered, "All right, give these two some room! Move along; move along!" 

The crowd dispersed, and the _padre_ turned back to Consuela and Felipe. "Are you all right?" he asked again, as he helped Consuela to her feet. 

_"Si."_ Consuela took a deep breath. "I thought I was goin' to be run over by that crowd." 

The priest ruffled Felipe's brown hair. "If it hadn't been for your son, _señora,_ you might well have been." He smiled down at Felipe. "What's your name, _amigo_?" 

"Felipe Cortez, _Padre_." Smiling shyly, the little boy scratched his nose. 

"Well, Felipe, you're a brave boy to defend your mother like that. You may have saved her life." 

Felipe smiled again, bashfully. _"Gracias, señor."_ He leaned against his mother, who put an arm around him. " _Mi_ mamá's brave, too." 

"I'm sure she is." The priest nodded, then turned to Consuela. "I remember you, _señora_ ; you're staying at the barn, aren't you? You and your husband and son?" 

" _Si. Mi llamo_ Consuela Cortez. My husband is Juan." Consuela gazed down at the bucket; it had landed near the _plaza_ fountain. "I was just gettin' us some water." 

The priest glanced into the bucket, then picked it up. Water sloshed over the edges. "Even though there's no fighting at the moment, it's not safe to be out here. It's going to start up again, later. You'd better stay in the barn, _señora_. You, too, Felipe. I'll see you there, to make sure you reach the barn safely." 

Carrying the bucket, he escorted Consuela and Felipe to the barn. Once inside the stall, he set the bucket down on the hay-covered ground. "I will bring you some water tonight, so you won't have to leave this barn again." 

He made the sign of the cross over Consuela's forehead, then patted Felipe's shoulder. Felipe watched him go. 

Consuela sighed. "God bless that good priest," she said. " _And_ my brave, good boy, who saved me from gettin' run over." She hugged Felipe and kissed his cheek. 

Felipe's heart felt light. For the first time in weeks, he did not feel guilty. The priest and his mother had called him brave. If he was brave enough to save his mother, then his father was wrong in calling him a coward. 

For the rest of the day, the two of them obeyed the _padre_ and stayed inside the barn. Juan joined them that afternoon, shortly after the shelling resumed. All that time, Felipe did his best to occupy himself. Silently, he prayed that they wouldn't have to stay in that stupid barn much longer. 

That night, the shelling ceased, as it did every night. There had not been a single songfest since the siege had started, nor was there one that evening. After supper, Consuela and Felipe prayed with her rosary, as they always did, then Felipe knelt on his sleeping mat to say his bedtime prayers. Consuela kissed him goodnight. 

_Boom!_

Felipe shot up. To his horror, he was no longer in the barn; he was in that old cart again! _"Noo!!"_ he screamed. "Mommy!!!" In that instant, the cart flew in the air, and he was thrown out. 

"Felipe!" His mother's hand shook his shoulder violently. "Wake up, my son!" 

Felipe shot up and stared at his mother as she bent over him. "Mommy, I had that bad dream again," he sobbed. 

" _Hijo,_ you're goin' to have to be very brave." Consuela knelt beside him on his reed mat. "The government soldiers are comin' to town, and we got to get ready to run. There's goin' to be fightin' right here in town. Get up now, and roll up your mat!"


	10. "We Got to Get Away from Here!"

Felipe scrambled to his feet and gaped at his mother. "Are--are we gonna _die_?!" His voice shook. 

Consuela hugged him. "Not if your papá and I can help it. Now get dressed and roll up your mat, son; we got to hurry!" 

Felipe did as he was told. With fumbling fingers, he pulled on his white cotton trousers, the blue shirt that was lined with narrow vertical black lines, and his sandals. As he tied his sash around his waist, Juan entered the stall to help his family pack everything. He had donned a white cotton shirt, a pair of brown trousers, his wool sash, his faded gray vest, his brown jacket, and his gray felt _sombrero_ , Felipe noticed. A grim expression etched Juan's careworn face. 

When they had wrapped all their possessions in two huge bundles, Juan looked sternly at Consuela, then at Felipe. "You two come out here and wait. I got to watch for the soldiers. I'll tell you when to put our things in the cart." 

Nodding, Consuela hung her wooden rosary around her neck. Felipe followed her as she entered the main room, where all the other _peons_ had congregated. Consuela knelt on a pile of hay. Felipe plopped next to her on the wide mound of hay, and she put an arm around his shoulders. The sweet-smelling hay sagged and crinkled beneath their weight; the sweaty smell of his mother's clothes wafted toward the boy's nostrils. He glanced at the tanned legs sticking out from underneath Consuela's green skirt, then inserted his index finger into his mouth. 

Minutes passed. Consuela crouched on her knees against the cold stone wall of the huge barn. Feeling restless, Felipe rose to his feet, but stayed close to his mother. The hay crackled underneath as Consuela shifted position. From time to time, she fingered the dark-brown wooden rosary dangling from her neck. 

The other peasants surrounded Consuela and Felipe. Some sat on the bare ground or on piles of hay, Indian-style, with their legs crossed. Some paced the barn. Some stood leaning against the walls, and still others knelt on the lumps of hay, as Consuela did, and prayed. 

Juan had left his _sombrero_ in the stall and returned to the entrance to stand guard. He stood in the doorway now, bare-headed, waiting for the coming government soldiers. He turned around to face his wife and son. "They're comin' closer." He took a deep breath. "They'll be here, soon. When they do--" He paused. "They'll kill us all. Everyone in this barn, everyone in town, unless we can get away. I heard it from a rebel soldier, yesterday." 

"Because of the _peons_ who joined?" Consuela fingered her rosary dangling from her neck. Juan nodded, with a grim expression on his face. 

Felipe shivered and approached his mother. She extended her arms, and the child crawled into her lap, whimpering. "Mommy, I'm scared." Felipe nestled against her bosom as she clasped him tightly. 

"I know, son. We all are." Consuela paused. "We're in God's hands, Felipe. We can only trust Him." Felipe nodded. 

For a time, she rocked him and hummed. The distant cannonblasts gradually became louder. 

Suddenly, Consuela let go of Felipe. As he watched her, she removed the rosary from around her neck. "We will pray, once more," she told her son. 

" _Si,_ Mommy." 

For a time, Felipe and his mother prayed for safety, counting each decade on the rosary as they always did. When they had finished, Juan approached them. "We must put everythin' in the cart soon, Consuela. It's almost time." 

Consuela nodded and rose to her feet. She took Felipe outside and toward the public outhouses, so he could relieve himself. Then they went to the _plaza_ fountain to get a drink of water. Her dull-green skirt swished as she led her son toward the _plaza_. When they arrived, a long line of other _peons_ stood in line, waiting for their turns, so Felipe and his mother had to wait, as well. When Felipe had quenched his thirst, Consuela took a swallow. She then led her son back to the barn, where Juan still stood in the doorway, waiting. 

Felipe squatted on the hay in the rear of the barn, and Consuela paused. As the little boy gazed up at her, she removed her rosary from around her neck and held it out to her son. 

"Take care of my rosary, Felipe." Her voice shook; she took a deep breath. "It's yours, now." She bent over to hand him the rosary; as Felipe rose to a kneeling position to take it, the hay underneath him crackled. His father, who still stood in the doorway of the barn, paid no attention to his wife or his son. He was too busy watching for the soldiers, as he had done every day since the siege had started, two weeks before. 

Consuela knelt to look her son full in the face. " _Mi madre_ gave it to me when she died, and _her_ mother gave it to her. Now, _I'm_ givin' it to _you_. Pray with it every day, just like I taught you. When you die, give it to your own child." 

Mother and son paused to listen to the gunshots and explosions. Consuela patted his cheek with a rough, workworn hand. "It belongs to you now, son, so take good care of it. Whatever happens, go to church and be a good boy. Promise?" 

Felipe's voice trembled. "I--I promise, Mommy." Why was his mother talking like that? Surely, the government soldiers wouldn't kill _her_! He wouldn't let them! He'd cover her with his own body if he had to, just as he had when that crowd had nearly run her down. 

The next cannonball explosion sounded louder. The government soldiers were getting closer. Felipe shivered. 

His mother sat down on the pile of hay and hugged Felipe tightly. The hay crackled underneath her. "Just remember, son; God loves you, and He will take care of you. Remember that!" 

"Y--yes, Mommy." Felipe nestled against her bosom again. The familiar sweaty smell of her clothes--of "hard work," as both his parents called it--and the feel of her arms around his back comforted Felipe. 

Consuela rocked the little boy and crooned to him as he tried to ignore the increasingly louder noises of battle. The other peasants surrounding Felipe and his mother alternately sat silently and prayed. 

Half an hour later, the battle exploded in the village _plaza_ , with earsplitting cannonblasts and musket shots. Felipe and his parents lugged the two bundles toward the pushcart. Juan lifted each one up and, with a grunt, dropped it in the cart. 

Consuela hastily draped her shoulders with her yellow woolen shawl, and Juan put on his gray felt _sombrero_. "Mommy, where's _mi sombrero_?" Felipe asked. "My _poncho_? _Mi serape?_ " 

"They're packed, _hijo_. There's no time to look for them, now." Consuela patted his shoulder. 

Juan then lifted Felipe and set him inside the pushcart. "Hold tight!" he ordered the little boy. "Don't move!" Felipe nodded his acquiescence. 

The little boy trembled as his parents slowly pushed the cart out of the barn. The pushcart's two sides consisted of rows of vertical wooden bars. He clutched the side till his knuckles turned white. He could feel the smooth rosary beads pressing against the side of his hip, where they nestled inside the top of his white cotton trousers. 

"Push!" Juan ordered his wife. "We got to get away from here!" 

As the _peons_ rushed out of the _pueblo_ , past the bastion, government soldiers and revolutionary soldiers surrounded them, fighting. Rifle shots and musket shots, earsplitting cannonblasts, battle shouts, and terrified screams echoed in Felipe's ears. Thick clouds of dust from the cannonblasts blocked his vision and choked him. He coughed and coughed, trying to clear his windpipe. 

When he could finally breathe, Felipe clutched the side of the cart and stared ahead. _Please, God, protect us!_ he prayed silently. 

The ground shook; a cannonball had just landed not too far from Felipe. As he squatted in the pushcart, his parents pushed and shoved it with all their might, in their frantic efforts to get their son and themselves to safety. More thick clouds of dust from the cannonblasts blocked Felipe's vision of the surrounding countryside and choked him; again, he coughed the dust out of his throat. While the little boy clutched the bars of the side and stared ahead, the incessant cannonblasts, rifle and musket shots, and terrified screams went on and on. 

Felipe gulped down a convulsive sob. He just knew they were all going to die! For a long moment, he shook violently and uncontrollably. By degrees, he managed to stop trembling. 

Suddenly, the pushcart halted. Try as Juan and Consuela did, they could not move it any further. The other peasants rushed on ahead as Consuela darted past Felipe toward the front end of the cart. "Consuela, you pull on that end!" Juan ordered. "I'll push it from behind! We _got_ to get this cart loose!" 

As Felipe watched his parents and gripped the round wooden bars that comprised the right side of the cart, Juan pushed and Consuela pulled, but the cart refused to budge. With a loud grunt, Juan gripped the handles so hard that his knuckles turned white, and he threw his whole body against the back end of the cart. Clutching the front end, Consuela heaved and strained. 

"Mommy!" Felipe cried, just before the pushcart began to move once more. 

Consuela rushed back to the handles. While her husband pushed them, she gripped the cart's corner and shoved. The violent jolt that resulted nearly knocked Felipe onto his side; clutching the bars, he managed to regain his balance. 

Suddenly, a particularly loud, earsplitting cannonblast exploded in Felipe's ears. It jolted the ground violently. 

Felipe soared through the air and landed on his head. The terrified boy screamed as he fell; excruciating pain exploded inside his head when he landed on the ground. Pitch-blackness descended. Felipe knew nothing.


	11. "Lost on the Desert

When the blackness receded, Felipe found himself lying facedown on the ground, with grass tickling his nose. The two bundles containing his family's possessions pressed his back, pinning him down against the ground. His head throbbed, making him wince. 

Slowly, Felipe raised his aching head and clutched the side of it with his right hand. The sides of the pushcart lay up-ended on the ground. It had been overturned. 

_Mamá?_ Felipe thought. _Papá? Where are they?_ The little boy winced. _Ow! My head hurts!_

He looked around. Through the bars, he could see his father lying facedown in the grass, several feet from Felipe's head. Juan's gray felt _sombrero_ lay askew. Where was Felipe's mother? He just had to find out! 

Gritting his teeth, Felipe rose to his elbows and knees. Shaking his body sideways, he shoved the bundles toward the side. He crept out from underneath the overturned pushcart, and looked towards his left. 

His mother lay sprawled on her side at the other end of the pushcart, her yellow shawl draped askew over her shoulder. Felipe crawled toward her and shook her shoulder. 

"Mommy," he tried to say; nothing came out. "Mommy," he tried to say again, as he shook her a second time. No sound came from his mouth. His mother lay limp and motionless. 

Fear gripped Felipe's heart. He clutched his throat. "Mommy!" he mouthed a third time, in an effort to shout. His throat did not vibrate as it usually did when he spoke. 

_I can't talk!_ Felipe thought. _Mommy's dead; Papá's dead!_

He scrambled to his feet and looked around. Dead _peons_ and soldiers lay scattered in the grass and surrounded Felipe. He could see no one alive in any direction he looked; he couldn't hear a single voice. Even the victorious government soldiers had disappeared. He was alone. All alone. 

Desperately, in an attempt to gain someone's attention, Felipe tried unsuccessfully to scream for help, wincing as his head throbbed. He clapped his hands, but no one came to his rescue. There was no answering shout. 

Felipe clapped his hands again. This time, he noticed that the sound his hands usually made when slapped together was totally absent. He stared at his callused, workworn hands and clapped a third time. There was no clapping sound. 

_No!_ the boy thought. _It's not true! It's not!_ His hands shook; he swallowed a lump in his throat. 

Suddenly, he wondered what would happen if he tried to revive his father. Maybe his father was just unconscious. He rushed toward his father's side, bent over, and shook Juan's shoulder. Juan did not so much as open his eyes. 

After a violent effort to shake his father awake, Felipe gave up. As he wandered away from the dead bodies, he found a fist-size rock and picked it up. In that instant, he decided to find out if he could hear or not. 

Felipe hurled the rock at a nearby tree. It bounced off the trunk and landed in the grass. The thuds Felipe had expected to hear did not reach his ears. 

_I can't hear!_ he thought. _I can't talk; I can't hear!_

Panic seized the little boy, as he fully realized the mortal danger he was in. Unless someone found him soon, he would be killed by wild beasts or die of thirst and starvation. Felipe collapsed on the ground; for the next several minutes, he wept profuse, heavy, yet silent sobs. 

When the sobs subsided, he pushed himself into a sitting position. Sniffing, he wiped his tear-stained face. In that instant, a small building in the general vicinity of the bastion and the other building exploded. Debris flew into the air, as Felipe stared. But the loud boom never reached his ears. It was, for him, a totally silent explosion. 

Suddenly, he realized that the rest of the _pueblo_ was going to explode, too. Unless he moved out of harm's way quickly, he would be killed for sure. He leaped to his feet and darted toward a tree with a thick trunk. He hid behind it and squeezed his eyes shut. 

In the next instant, the ground shook violently. Felipe threw his arms against the tree to keep his balance. 

A moment later, he glanced around the tree to see what had happened. To his horror, the whole _pueblo_ was on fire. Yellow-red flames blazed into the air; thick columns of smoke rose toward the sky. Not daring to see what would happen next, Felipe ran away. 

Minutes passed, as he ran and ran. A pain developed in his side; his breath grew short and came in gasps. But he dared not stop. He feared that something terrible would happen to him if he did. 

At last, he stopped. He was too tired to run any farther. He flopped on the ground and lay there, trying to catch his breath. He felt his heart pounding, and beads of sweat trickled down his face. Gradually, his breath slowed down to normal. 

_Mommy won't be lookin' for me, now,_ he thought, miserably. _She's dead. She's in Heaven with Jesus. No one's gonna look for me!_

Suddenly, he remembered his nightmares. He'd had them night after night before the Cortezes had left San Miguel; then they had stopped until the night before. 

_It happened just like in my dream!_ The thought made him freeze. _I got thrown from a cart! And Mommy—she said she saw market day, and we wasn't there! And we really won't be, will we? We'll never be at market day ever again! Never, never, never!_

Felipe realized, then, that his nightmares and his mother's visions had been premonitions, warnings from God of what was going to happen. It had happened exactly as his dreams had foretold, and it would happen exactly as his mother had sensed. When the survivors had returned to San Miguel from those other places of refuge and began selling and trading their wares on market day, his family would not be there, though it was possible that the Lopezes would. 

The thought was so awful that it terrified Felipe. For the second time that day, he lay on his stomach, crying. 

Several minutes later, something the strange priest had told him came back to him now. The priest had called him brave, because he had come to his mother's aid. And their own Padre Pablo had told him, before that, that he knew Felipe could be brave if circumstances called for it. 

_Well, I'm not brave,_ Felipe thought, snuffling. _I'm scared! I'm all alone, and there's no one to take care of me!_ He made the sign of the cross. _Please, God, help me! And_ por favor _, help me be brave!_

Resigned to his ordeal, the little boy rose to his feet and began to look for someone to help him. Without thinking, he inserted his index finger into his mouth. For a long moment, as he sucked his finger, he turned around, scanning the desert, but saw no one. He could not remember where the town was. All he could see were trees and rolling hills. Where could he look for someone to help him? 

With a sigh, Felipe rubbed his hands on his blue shirt, then wandered away. For the rest of that day, he walked on and on. Hour after hour, he trudged wearily onward. From time to time, he passed a group of dead soldiers. Not one living person came in sight. Again and again, tears of deep-seated terror welled up in his eyes. What would he do if no one found him? How would he survive? 

Slowly, the pangs of hunger began to torment Felipe. He yearned for something to eat. When he saw a clump of green berries on a bush, he stopped to examine them. 

He picked one off the branch it clung to and laid it on his throat. Instantly, it stung his tongue, and it tasted terrible. Felipe spit it out immediately and made a face. Then he wiped his sweaty forehead and trudged onward. 

_I want my mommy!_ he thought. _Mommy, why'd you have to die?!_

At last, the now-orange sun dipped toward the horizon. Felipe paused to look at it. It was going to be dark soon. He was going to be all alone on an empty desert in the blackness of night. 

The exhausted boy approached a nearby tree and slid down to the ground. Crossing his legs Indian-style, he pulled his mother's rosary out of his white trousers and gazed at it for a long moment. As he did, his promise came back to him. 

_Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us now and in the hour of our death,_ he silently prayed. As he prayed the familiar litany and followed it up with his bedtime prayers, the sun set. One by one, the stars began to twinkle. The air grew chilly. 

Felipe draped the rosary around his neck and lay cuddled on his side, wrapping his arms around his chest for warmth. The terrors that he had managed to hold at bay all day now threatened to totally overwhelm him. Convulsive, yet silent sobs forced their way out of his throat. He lay on his side, sobbing helplessly, till sleep finally overcame him and stilled his crying. As he lay in slumber, though, he found himself whisked back to the scene of the battle. He stared at his parents as they shoved the cart onward; cannonblasts and gunshots hurt his ears. In the next instant, the cart was knocked over, and he flew through the air. 

_Mommy!!_

Felipe shot up and stared around wildly. _Mommy!_ he thought, panic-stricken. _Where's Mommy? Why isn't she here?!_

As he scanned the dark, silent countryside surrounding him, reality hit. He was all alone, with no one to comfort him or protect him. He lay back on his side and, resting his face in his hands, sobbed again.


	12. Otherworldly Peace

When Felipe woke up the next morning, the orange sun had just risen above the horizon. The boy's tears had dried on his cheeks. 

_That was an awful nightmare,_ he thought, as he pushed himself into a sitting position. _I was so scared. I still am!_ He sniffled. 

For a long moment, he just rested his face in his hands, trying to regain control. When he was satisfied that unwelcome sobs would not force their way out of his throat, he lifted his head and gazed at his worn-out, scuffed sandals. 

Felipe had never been so frightened in his life, not even during the awful siege. At least, then, he'd had his parents to protect him and comfort him. Now, he had no one. Not only had he been deprived of his mother, his father, his speech, and his hearing in one fell blow, there was no one who knew to look for him. Without his voice, he could not call for help. If anyone did come along, unless he happened to see them or unless they saw him, he would never know they were there. Felipe was in desperate straits. 

_What can I do? I'm just a little boy; I'm only seven years old! I can't take care of myself. I'll die if someone doesn't find me soon!_

Wearily, he rose to his feet. The sleep hadn't really refreshed him. He not only still felt sleepy, every muscle in his body felt stiff and sore. For a moment, he bowed his head to pray; as he made the sign of the cross, he begged God to help him and to protect him. He then left that tree. Maybe if he walked long enough, he would find someone to help him, or at least find some food and water. 

It was a long, miserable day. Felipe trudged mile after weary mile, not at all sure he was heading to any place where help could be had. Moreover, he sensed he was wandering in circles. Twice, he came to a boulder he had passed the day before. As the morning went on, the air grew hot. Repeatedly, Felipe wiped beads of sweat off his face with his shirtsleeve. 

Occasionally, he doubled over when a spasm of pain hit his stomach. He recognized that pain; he'd had it before when he'd had to go without food for a long stretch of time. That had happened when the crops had failed. 

His mouth felt unbearably dry, yet his face felt damp with sweat. His clothes smelled of sweat and stink. Again and again, he would stop to wipe his face. He found nothing he could safely eat. Not a single river, creek, pond, or lake came into view. 

_I'm awful hungry,_ he thought. _I'm awful thirsty! I'm awful hot!_

When the noon hour arrived, Felipe stopped to rest and to try to come up with an idea. He thought of building a signal fire, but quickly gave that up. Not only was there nothing on hand to start a fire with, there was no one for miles around who would see the smoke. Unable to think of a useful course of action, he sat slumped and wept. When he stopped crying, he rose to his feet and trudged onward. 

The afternoon slowly passed. He just trudged on and on, too tired and frightened and grief-stricken to pay any attention to his surroundings. When nightfall came, he sat under a tree again and prayed with his rosary once more. 

_It's been two days,_ the little boy thought. _I'm still alone. I haven't ate nothin' in two days!_

In that instant, an overflowing sense of peace welled up in him. It was an otherworldly sensation that calmed him, making him feel better. 

_It's God!_ he thought, thankfully. _He's here! With me!_ He made the sign of the cross. 

Felipe had felt this otherworldly joy twice before: once when his mother was very sick, and the morning he'd had his first communion. Just knowing that it was happening again made him feel better. God was with him; God was looking after him. Somehow, He would help Felipe. The little boy didn't know how, but he sensed that God would save him. He lay down on his side and inserted his index finger into his mouth. Soon, he drifted off. 

"Felipe!" 

Felipe shot up. His mother stood on a hill several yards away from him. The sun blazed behind her. 

"Come on, son!" She held out her hand. "We're goin' home!" 

Felipe leaped to his feet and raced toward his mother. As he approached her, she slowly faded. He could see the desert through her, now. 

"No, Mommy!" he cried; to his relief, he could talk. "Don't go away! _Por favor,_ stay! Please don't go!" 

His pleas had no effect. Just as he reached that hill, his mother vanished altogether. "Mommy!" Felipe screamed. "Mommy, where are you?!" 

Felipe opened his eyes. It was still pitch-black and totally silent; morning had not arrived, and he was still deaf. 

_Mommy!_ he screamed, soundlessly. _Mommy!_ Not a sound left his throat. 

Convulsive, yet silent, sobs forced their way out of his throat. He lay on his stomach and wept profusely. What was he going to do? What would he do without his mother and father? Without his beloved godparents and Rafael? And without his speech and hearing?


	13. Rain

When Felipe opened his eyes the next morning, the orange sun hung suspended just over the horizon. Wisps of clouds made feathery streaks in the sky. 

The memory of his dream still haunted him. If only his mother had survived! If only she were with him now, taking care of him and looking for someone to help them both. 

Slowly, he rose to his feet. For a long moment, he just stood there, scanning the desert and sucking his index finger. No human being appeared on the horizon. No food, no water source lay anywhere in sight. 

_Where am I gonna find any water?_ he wondered. 

Sighing, he went on his way. He just _had_ to have some water, and soon! 

Hours passed. Felipe wandered this way and that. As he did, he wondered how much longer he'd be able to go on without food or water. 

His body felt heavy. He couldn't muster the energy to walk as fast as he had done the last two days. His mouth felt so dry he couldn't gather any saliva to spit. Frequently, a dizzy, light-headed sensation would sweep over him, making him feel faint. His feet hurt incessantly. 

_I'm so thirsty!_ he thought. _I want somethin' to drink! I don't feel good._

As afternoon set in, Felipe stopped to wipe the sweat off his face and to get his bearings. As he scanned the desert surrounding him, he saw a towering pile of storm clouds to the southwest. He stared at them hopefully. Did that mean--? 

_Please, God,_ Felipe prayed, silently, _make it rain! Please, please, please!_ Por favor _!_ He made the sign of the cross. 

With renewed energy, he strode in the direction of those clouds. Slowly, they approached him, till they floated directly overhead. 

A cold drop of water splashed on Felipe's nose. He stopped to wait for the next splash. It was not long in coming. It landed on his hand. 

_Please, God,_ he prayed, _don't let it stop!_

A moment later, a steady rain pounded his head. Felipe leaned his head back and opened his mouth wide. For a long time, he just stood there, letting the rain trickle down his tongue. It tasted _so_ good! 

When he was tired of standing still, he walked onward, stopping frequently to drink some more. Gradually, he managed to quench his thirst. All the while, the rain drenched Felipe and soaked his clothes through. 

Gradually, his body felt heavier and heavier. It took more and more energy just to put one foot in front of the other. At last, he was too weak and exhausted to take another step. He trudged wearily toward a nearby tree and plopped underneath. To his horror, several dead soldiers lay scattered in front of it. 

Moaning silently, Felipe raised his knees and took a deep breath. He rested his head on his knees. Was he going to die, too? Would his body lie there with theirs? 

_I'm scared! I want my mamá!_ he thought. _Why'd she have to die?!_ With a sigh, Felipe raised his head to drink some more rain. Minutes passed as the cold raindrops trickled down his throat. 

The rainshower ended at sunset. The clouds cleared out. A few minutes later, the sun dipped below the horizon. 

Felipe shook his head violently; a shower of raindrops flew out every which way, spattering on his arms and legs. He grabbed his rosary and shook the water off it. As the sky darkened and the stars came out, he sat there and prayed. When he had finished, he just sat there, thinking and sucking his index finger. He felt weak and light-headed. He was no longer thirsty, but his stomach still ached intermittently from incessant hunger. How he missed his kind, gentle mother and his good godfather! 

"Remember, son, God loves you, and He will take care of you. Remember that!" His mother's words replayed in his head. 

_It's been three days, now,_ he thought. _How much longer? Am I gonna die here?_

Wearily, he lay curled on his side, wrapped his arms around his chest, and closed his eyes. Silently, he prayed that God would protect him while he slept and keep him from having any more nightmares. Even as he did, he feared that the second request would go unanswered. His fears proved to be correct. For the third night in a row, he had a dream that terrified him. This time, while his parents pushed the cart, a soldier stopped in front of them and aimed his rifle straight at Felipe. 

"No!" he screamed. " _Por favor,_ don't shoot me!" 

_Bang!_

Felipe shot up, screaming soundlessly. Again, the full horror of his plight exploded on him, and he lay there, crying. Gradually, as he lay weeping, he fell asleep again.


	14. Strange Caballero

When Felipe woke up the next morning, he just lay there for a long moment. He did not want to open his eyes. He just lay curled on his stomach and sniffled. The tears had long since dried, but his nose felt stuffy. Grass tickled his nose. The cool, early-morning air felt good on his skin. 

At last, he reluctantly opened them. The sun had just risen over the horizon. The portion of the sky surrounding it looked reddish-orange. 

Feeling too weak, dizzy, and light-headed from hunger to walk any further, Felipe sat up, leaning against the tree and gazing miserably at the soldiers' now-smelly bodies. With a sigh, he lifted his rosary from around his neck and dutifully prayed with it as his mother had taught him, but his heart was not in it. He had lost all hope that God would save him. 

When Felipe had finished praying, the air still felt cool and fresh, but the sky had turned blue. Felipe inserted the rosary into his smudged white trousers. He folded his legs upwards, rested his right elbow on his right knee, and wearily rested his face down on his open palm. What was going to happen to him? How much longer could he go on before death claimed him? 

_Please, God,_ he whimpered silently, _don't let me die!_

Time passed; Felipe had no idea how much. Every time he raised his head, the sun had risen further into the sky, and the air had turned hotter. Hours passed as he sat underneath that tree, too tired and weak to stand up and walk, and too discouraged to keep hoping for rescue. He didn't even know if he would even be found, let alone survive. Tears trickled down his face, along with beads of sweat. 

_I'm scared,_ Felipe thought. _I'm gonna die soon. I can't go on no more._ He sighed heavily and suppressed a sob. He no longer had the energy to cry. 

**Z * Z * Z**

While Felipe sat underneath that tree, waiting for death to claim him, three men traveled north. Two of them were gentlemen on horseback, and one was a driver pulling a supply wagon. The wagon contained crates and bundles of their possessions. 

The two gentlemen sat straight and tall in their saddles. The older one wore a tan frockcoat, a light-brown velvet vest, and a pair of darker-brown trousers. He wore a brown silk cravat tied around his neck and kept a loaded pistol in his holster. The younger _caballero_ wore a yellowish-beige _charro_ jacket and a pair of white trousers. Both wore ruffled snow-white linen shirts and brown woolen capes. Their spurs jingled on their quality black leather boots. 

"I still think we should have stopped to check the bodies," the younger _caballero_ said. Tall and black-haired, he had blue eyes, a handsome physique, and a pencil-thin mustache, and he was in his twenties. The sweet, flowery scent of men's cologne wafted from his sensitive, expressive face. "Some of them might be alive." 

The older gentleman shook his head. "After three days, that's highly unlikely, Diego." He smiled. "Your compassion does you credit, though, _amigo_." 

Don Diego smiled back. " _Gracias,_ Señor Spencer." 

Don Diego de la Vega lived in a magnificent _hacienda_ two miles west of the _pueblo de_ Los Angeles, in southern California. His widowed father, Don Alejandro, a very successful landowner who owned thousands of acres, was one of the wealthiest, most influential aristocrats in the whole territory. Diego's uncle had died recently in Guadalajara, and Diego and his tutor and driver were returning to Los Angeles. They had left Diego's cousin, Don Rafael, behind in Guadalajara with his older brother, to comfort their mother and take care of the family affairs. He would return to his horse ranch in Santa Barbara, then. 

The three men had left Los Angeles last spring, in response to a summons Diego's uncle had sent. Don Alejandro had been convalescing from a serious illness at the time, and had been unable to go to his brother. Instead, he had sent his son to go to Guadalajara with Rafael and say good-bye in his place. Diego's tutor and one of the de la Vega servants had accompanied the two young gentlemen. 

A well-educated, proper British gentleman, Jonathan Spencer had tutored and educated Diego since the young man had been seven years old. Diego loved to read, to write, and to learn. He loved the arts and sciences. It was his goal to attend Madrid University next year and learn all about science, and Señor Spencer was in the process of getting his pupil ready for the entrance examinations. 

Jose, the driver, had worked for the de la Vegas for the last 10 years. Don Alejandro had sent him with Diego and Señor Spencer to drive the wagon and to tend to their needs. 

Señor Spencer yawned. "We overslept this morning." He chuckled. "We must see to it that we wake up at dawn tomorrow, and not at nine o' clock in the morning." 

Don Diego smiled ruefully. "It's been a stressful three days. Running into that violent battle, then having one of the wheels broken off our wagon like that." He shook his head. "I just hope we don't run into any more battles." 

"So do I." Señor Spencer pursed his lips. "At least we had a filling, leisurely breakfast before we left. That should give us ample energy for the long ride ahead. Good thing, too, since we may have to forego _siesta_ , owing to our late start." 

The men ceased talking and rode onward. The driver sat hunched over, slapping the reins from time to time. The two _caballeros_ sat tall and straight in their saddles. Their spurs jingled nonstop on the backs of their quality leather boots. From time to time, they passed groups of dead soldiers lying scattered. For a long time, no one spoke. 

"I'm anxious to get home." Don Diego removed a snow-white linen handkerchief from his inside jacket pocket and wiped his face. "My father must be eager to see me, after all this time." Sadness welled up as he remembered his uncle's last moments. "It will be so hard on my father, especially since he was too weak to make the journey and say good-bye himself. He lost one brother years ago, when I was just a baby. Now he has lost the other. My poor father has no brothers left. And my cousin has lost his beloved father." He sighed. 

The three men rode onward. Diego gazed up at the sky. The sun had risen halfway up toward the midpoint. It would be noon in just a few hours. 

**Z * Z * Z**

The weary little boy raised his head to look at the sun. It had risen halfway up; it was mid-morning now, and the air felt hot. Stifling a sob, Felipe wiped his perspiring face, glanced down at the narrow black lines running down his shirt, then lowered his face back onto his outstretched hand. 

_Maybe,_ he thought, _when I die, there'll be an angel to take me to Heaven. I hope there will be._

Felipe did not raise his head again after that. Time passed, as he sat crouched under the tree. More tears trickled down his cheek. The sweaty stink emanating from his clothes and his skin wafted toward his nose. 

Suddenly, a breeze ruffled the little boy's brown hair. It felt so good. Felipe took a deep breath, but did not raise his head. He was waiting for death to come. The hunger in his stomach had long since settled into a dull ache. His terror seemed far away. His surroundings felt like a dream. Tears streaked down his cheeks, and he made no attempt to wipe them off. 

A moment later, a sweet scent Felipe had never smelled before wafted toward his nostrils. It didn't smell quite like a flower, but it came close. 

_What's that?_ he wondered. _Where's that pretty smell comin' from?_

Slowly, Felipe raised his head to find out, wiping his tear-stained, dirt-smudged face. As he gradually looked up, he first saw, just a few feet from his head, a pair of shiny, black leather boots with spurs. Raising his head further, Felipe saw a pair of white trousers, a snow-white shirt with a collar and ruffles down the front and on the sleeves, and a yellowish-beige jacket. Above that jacket and shirt, Felipe saw the face, blue eyes, black hair, and thin mustache of a strange man--a _caballero_! 

Felipe had never before seen a _caballero_ up close. He had, of course, seen _caballeros, doñas,_ and their children on numerous occasions, from a distance in San Miguel, but none of them had ever deigned to speak to him. His parents had warned him against trying to approach one. 

" _Caballeros_ don't like _peons_ , Felipe," his mother had warned him repeatedly. "We're not equal to them, so they look down on us. They would be very angry if a peasant boy dared speak to one. Keep away from them, or they'll hurt you!" 

" _Si,_ Mommy," Felipe would say. He had kept his word; he had been careful to watch rich landowners only from a distance. Sometimes, though, he and Rafael had hidden in a wooden crate that lay against a wall where the street ended at the _caballeros'_ cobblestoned _plaza_ ; there, the two boys would watch them, fascinated. To a little peasant boy, the lives of the rich aristocrats seemed so fancy, so rich. Certainly, their clothes had been. So were the clothes of the _caballero_ who stood in front of him now. 

The gentleman stood straight and tall, with his shoulders held back. Without saying a word, he gazed down at the little boy, deep sadness and compassion etched on his handsome, expressive face. His blue eyes looked unmistakably kind. A brown woolen cape hung from his back, tied around his neck. 

Felipe gazed up at the strange _caballero_ , deep pain and terror resting like a stone in his heart and etched on his elfin face. He did not try to say a word. The knees of his trousers were smudged, Felipe noticed, as was the front of his blue homespun cotton shirt. His clothes stank of sweat, and his leather-woven sandals were about ready to fall apart. At the moment, though, he was too miserable and sick to care. 

Without saying a word, the gentleman bent over and gently took Felipe in his arms. He picked the little boy up and lifted him toward his own chest. The _caballero_ clasped the child against himself, supporting Felipe against his shoulder. As the gentleman straightened up, Felipe wrapped his arms around the man's neck and rested his chin on the man's shoulder. _What's this_ caballero _gonna do to me?_ Felipe thought. 

Patting the boy's back, the man gently carried him away from the tree. The breeze felt good on Felipe's hot skin. The wool cape felt smoother and softer than the woolen, homespun _ponchos_ and _serapes_ the little boy (and his father and godfather) had always worn. A light, clean, spicy scent wafted toward Felipe's nose, along with the a light, warm fragrance of something Felipe couldn't place. For a moment, the little boy wondered what it was. 

When the _caballero_ stopped, Felipe lifted his head and turned it around. To his left, a second _caballero_ was arranging some wood to make a fire, and a peasant man wearing a _poncho_ and _sombrero_ was opening a crate. 

Don Diego smiled his thanks. "I can feel his ribs," he said. "This boy hasn't eaten in three days, and he's grown quite weak. Judging from his odor, he hasn't had a bath in some time, either." Wrinkling his nose, Jonathan agreed. "Before we can do anything else, we've got to feed him. Then let's find out if he can speak or read lips. We've got to find out what his name is, and what's happened to his parents." The other men nodded agreement. 

"I'll heat some chicken broth for the boy," Jonathan said. "There should be some leftover _tortillas_ from this morning's breakfast, too." 

Don Diego nodded his thanks, then smiled kindly at the little boy. He tried to speak to the child. "Don't worry, _amigo_. You're not lost anymore; you're safe, now. You're with us, and we're going to take good care of you. Everything's going to be all right." He patted the child's shoulder as he spoke. 

Felipe just gazed at the _caballero_ with a blank expression. He did not say a word. 

Don Diego furrowed his eyebrows. "Can't you speak, _muchacho_? Can you understand anything I'm saying?" 

The little boy did not answer. He just gazed at Don Diego with a bewildered, uncomprehending expression in his liquid brown eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but try as he did, he could not utter a sound. Even though he tried so hard to speak that his face turned red in the effort, nothing came out of his throat. Don Diego's stomach tightened, and the other men shook heir heads. 

At last, with a sigh, Don Diego set the boy down in the supply wagon. Felipe sat with his legs scrunched upward and sucked his index finger. "I was afraid of that," Don Diego said, sadly. "He can't speak, and he can't read lips. For all we know, he doesn't know any words." Shaking his head, he climbed into the wagon with the child. 

As Don Diego crouched next to the boy, Jose handed his _patrón_ a cold _tortilla_. In turn, Don Diego handed it to the boy, who crammed part of it into his mouth. When he had eaten the _tortilla_ , Don Diego fed him two more _tortillas_ , some water, and some hot chicken broth. The little boy gulped the food down as fast as Don Diego could hand it to him. 

"You were half-starved, weren't you?" Don Diego smiled at the child and brushed his hair out of his eyes. Felipe swallowed the last of the broth and handed Diego the cup. 

_Now what?_ Don Diego wondered. For a long moment, as the _caballero_ gazed down at the little boy, he wondered what he should do with him. He and Señor Spencer needed to make a decision fast. 

At last, he climbed out of the wagon and rejoined his tutor. "We've got some decisions to make," he said. "Señor Spencer, you're a wise, sagacious man. What would you advise me to do?" 

Jonathan gazed at the boy for a long moment, then looked at Don Diego. "What do you want to do?" 

Diego smiled. "Help the boy, of course." He paused. "Suppose we return to the town where the battle was fought? We might find some survivors there who could tell us who the child is, and whether he has any living relatives." 

The cultured British tutor nodded. "That's an excellent idea, Diego. We will do that." 

Don Diego patted his horse and climbed into the wagon. Jonathan tied the horse's reins to the back of the wagon. As the little boy craned his head and watched, Don Diego said, "I'm ready to go." 

Jonathan nodded. "Jose, prepare to go back to that town." 

_"Si, señor."_

The driver climbed onto the wagon seat and grabbed the reins. Felipe leaned against the side as the wagon jolted away.


	15. Search for Relatives

An hour after setting out on their return journey, the three men and Felipe passed the now-charred ruins of the _pueblo_ and the bloody battlefield, dotted with rows of wooden crosses. Apparently, all the dead _peons_ and soldiers had been buried there. 

Wisps of smoke rose from the ruins of the buildings. Not a single live person appeared in sight. 

As Don Diego gazed at the rows of crosses, sadness lay in the pit of his stomach like a heavy stone. He wondered how on earth the little boy had managed to survive the battle if his parents hadn't. A guardian angel must have been watching over him. Sighing heavily, Diego put an arm around the little boy. 

"Don't worry, _muchacho,_ " Diego told the child. "We'll help you. I promise." With a reassuring smile, he bent to kiss the boy's scalp. The boy gazed down at his trouser-clad legs. 

Suddenly, the jolting wagon halted. Don Diego raised his head. _What's going on?_ he wondered. 

An elderly priest had just stepped around the ruins of the bastion. His brown woolen habit flapped in the wind. He lumbered toward the men and stopped near the supply wagon. "Can I help you, my sons?" 

Diego and his tutor smiled at each other. "We hope you can, _Padre_." Don Diego half-turned to face the priest. "We're trying to find this little boy's parents. Do you know who they are?" 

The _padre_ stood on his toes to gaze into the wagon. The boy gazed up at him as he did. The priest shook his head and lowered his body. 

"No," he said. "But then, I didn't minister to the refugees who stayed in the town barn; they had their own priest. I just ministered to those who stayed in the camp. I still do." He fingered his rosary as he spoke. 

"Do you know where the camp is?" Jonathan asked. 

The priest nodded. "It's 10 miles away from the town. Behind it." He turned and pointed as he spoke. "The refugees there mostly survived, though a number were killed by stray shells, and some others were shot dead by government soldiers. The survivors are building temporary huts until they can pick up the pieces." He sighed. "That won't be an easy task. Especially since the government troops have put them under martial law." 

Diego frowned. "Why?" 

"They think the _peons_ are in favor of the revolution. The soldiers fear they'll revolt. They're keeping the peasants under a heavy hand, _señores_ , until their _alcaldes_ who sent them here call them home. It's just possible someone there will know whether the boy's parents are alive, or if he has any other relatives." 

Jonathan nodded. _"Gracias, Padre."_

_"Vaya con Dios."_ The priest blessed them, then furrowed his eyebrows. "A word of warning, _señores_. The soldiers not only think that the _peons_ are revolutionary sympathizers, they also think that those peasants who stayed in the barn were rebels, themselves. Some of them joined the rebel army before the siege began, you see; that's why the government troops attacked this village. They were going to slaughter the refugees staying in the barn, had they survived the battle. The survivors in camp may well be afraid to help this boy." 

The two gentlemen frowned at the news. "Thank you for the warning," Jonathan said. As they left, the boy began to cry noiselessly. Don Diego put his arm comfortingly around the boy's shoulder and hugged him gently to his side. 

The group traveled onward, past the ruins of the _pueblo_. On the other side, they picked up speed in their efforts to reach the camp as quickly as possible. Two hours later, they arrived. 

Don Diego felt heartsick as soon as he saw the pitiful camp. When they had gotten close enough to see the people, he could see that the siege and the battle had disrupted the survivors' lives, and that they were in desperate straits. He saw gaunt women building small huts, aided only by small children. None of the refugees were wearing shoes, sandals, or warm clothing. Soldiers shouldering muskets milled about among the _peons_ , who did their best to ignore them. 

Diego's heart bled as he watched these people struggling to recover from the devastation. He wished there was something he could do to help them. First, they'd had to endure the hardship of famine and the ravages of war. Now they were forced to endure the cruelty of the government troops. If only there were something he could do! 

Señor Spencer pursed his lips. "Well, let's get started." He dismounted. "If we're going to make inquiries, there's not a moment to waste." 

Nodding, Don Diego climbed out of the wagon, then lifted the boy out. He set the child on the ground and led him into the camp. Felipe inserted his index finger into his mouth and stared wide-eyed at the people. The breeze ruffled his brown hair. 

_"Con permiso, señor."_ Diego tapped a _peon's_ shoulder. The man whirled around and froze. 

"What--what do you want, _caballero_?" The man backed up as he spoke. Fear welled up in his eyes. 

Diego raised his hands to indicate that he intended no harm. "Only to help this little boy, here." He put his arm around Felipe's shoulder. "My tutor, here, and my driver and I found him alone on the desert, six miles from town. He was lost for three days. Can you help us?" 

The man looked at the boy. "I don't know him, _señor_. I've never seen him." 

The two gentlemen glanced at each other and nodded. " _Señor,_ do you know anyone who could help us identify this boy?" Jonathan asked. "We're looking for his parents. He can't speak or hear, so we don't even know his name." 

The peasant shrugged. "I can't even help myself." He sighed. "The soldiers have taken our food, _caballeros_. And our supplies, our animals. A lot of us have lost loved ones. We all lost our jobs and homes." He shook his head and spoke bitterly. "We didn't even support the revolution, and look what happened! We're only alive because we didn't stay in that barn near town, but we're sure not much better off. I pray our _alcaldes'll_ send for us soon! I don't know how much more we can take." 

He sighed. "I'm sorry. I can't help you find this boy's folks, and I can't take him in and raise him. _Con permiso?_ " He turned around to resume his work. 

Diego sighed, in his turn. As he turned away, he noticed an old man glaring at them. The man's face was gaunt, and he wore a tattered, homespun cotton shirt and trousers. As Diego started to approach him, the man turned away and disappeared. 

"We're going to spend the night here." Señor Spencer looked around. "We're going to have to rent a hut to sleep in." 

They approached another _peon_ and asked permission to sleep in his hut that night. "We'll pay you well, if you'll allow us to rent your hut," Don Diego promised. "We're trying to reunite a lost little boy with his family, and we may have to spend the night here to do it." 

The man furrowed his eyebrows. "You're tryin' to _help_ this boy?!" He glanced at the little boy, then back at Don Diego, disbelief on his face. 

Don Diego and his tutor glanced at each other, amused. " _Señor,_ Don Diego's not the sort to turn his back on a man in need," Jonathan said. "He certainly won't turn his back on a lost war orphan." 

"I certainly won't." Diego gazed down at the woebegone child and patted his shoulder. 

The man shrugged. " _Si, señor._ I got no family now; the soldiers killed them." 

Diego took several _pesos_ out of his pocket and handed them to the man. "Do you have any friends here who have finished building their huts?" 

Suspicion welled up in the man's eyes. "What do you want, _caballero_?" 

"Only to enlist your aid in helping this child." Don Diego spoke soothingly. "Would you be willing to speak with some of your _compadres_ , to find out if his parents are alive, or if he has any other relatives?" 

The man gazed down at the money for a long moment, then at the boy. _"Si,"_ he said. "Wait here." He disappeared. 

Minutes later, he returned with several other men. Don Diego explained the little boy's predicament to them, and asked them to inquire of their neighbors. "If the boy's loved ones cannot be located here, we will take him with us and go. But first, we've got to try." 

Jonathan handed each man several _pesos_. "We will pay you more tomorrow morning, after you have conducted your search. And if you succeed in finding his loved ones, or in finding out who he is, we will give you more than that." 

One of the men sighed. "We will look, _señor_." 

The men disappeared, except the one who had rented out his makeshift hut. He nodded. "You can sleep in my hut tonight." 

_"Gracias."_ Diego smiled gratefully. The man left. 

For the rest of the afternoon, Don Diego, Jonathan, and Jose went from _peon_ to _peon_ , to family after family, to inquire if they knew the boy. Some of them, he learned, had previously slept in the barn where the boy and his parents had slept, and had moved to the camp upon learning that the _peons_ in the barn had been branded as rebels. A flash of recognition appeared in their eyes when they saw the child, but all denied having ever seen him. Not one of them agreed to take the little boy in. Not one of them acknowledged him, or told the three men his name. 

Several times, the two gentlemen saw the strange, hostile _peon_ who had watched them earlier. He always turned and disappeared when any of them tried to approach him. If they didn't approach him, he just stood at a distance and glared fiercely at them. 

When nightfall came, Don Diego took the boy to the hut the three men had rented. Together, they ate cold _tortillas_ for supper, then said their prayers. The child had been crying off and on all day. As he lay on the reed mat, he wept again. Diego felt like crying himself as he gazed at the little boy. Deep down, he feared that the child's parents had been killed in that battlefield, a field that had been soaked by too much blood. It had begun to appear that the boy had no surviving relatives or friends to take him in. 

Gently, Diego pulled the wool blanket over the boy's shoulder and kissed his soft cheek. He took the boy's hand and held it until the child had cried himself to sleep. 

"Señor Spencer?" Diego turned to his tutor. "Would you please sit with the boy? I need a breath of fresh air." 

Jonathan nodded. " _Si,_ Diego. I will." 

Don Diego rose to his feet and tied the strings of his cape around his neck. "Thank you for helping." He smiled gratefully. "You're a good man." 

Señor Spencer chuckled. "I can't just turn away from this child, either." He gazed at the sleeping boy and shook his head sadly. "He's been through too much, as it is." 

"He certainly has." 

The tutor gazed at the little boy. "He's a sweet, adorable, lovable child," he said. "And a handsome one. I suspect he's a lot tougher than he looks. Only a tough child--and a brave one, I might add--could have survived what he went through." 

Nodding, Diego stepped outside. He could only agree. The cool night breeze caressed his face; clusters of glittering stars dotted the sky. He decided to take a walk around the camp. 

As he did so, he saw the same gaunt women still at work building their huts, with the help of their children. Even though the air felt chilly now that it was dark, they still wore no sandals, shoes, _ponchos, serapes,_ or capes. Don Diego's heart bled as he watched them. He wished there were more he could do to help them, besides paying those who had agreed to conduct the search. At the same time, he was surprised to find out that the prying eyes of the soldiers had finally left the people alone for the night. Apparently, they believed that revolt could only happen during the day. 

Don Diego wondered why none of the refugees would cooperate. After much thought, he suspected that fear was the main reason. After all, the soldiers had assumed that the _peons_ who had stayed in the barn had supported the revolution. They had branded those _peons_ as rebels and had attacked the village because of them. Since to accept the boy would draw suspicion, none dared take him in. The same fear had kept everyone from talking to Diego and his _compadres_ , which in turn had kept them from even finding out the boy's name. 

He feared that the _peons_ he'd hired as detectives had fared no better. None of them had returned to Diego or his tutor to announce that they'd found the boy's relatives or someone who had agreed to raise him. 

_I'd better go back,_ he thought. _Señor Spencer and I have much to discuss before we go to sleep._

He turned around and trudged back to the hut they'd rented. When he had almost reached it, he ran into the old man he'd seen repeatedly from a distance that day. This time, the man did not turn and disappear. Instead, he just stood there and glared at Don Diego with a hatred in his eyes that Diego understood. After all, it was his own class that mistreated this man's people so badly. _Peon_ and _caballero_ stood for a moment in silence, and then the gaunt man spoke. 

"The boy's parents are dead," he spat, with pure loathing dripping from his words. "They stayed in the barn. His folks came from south of here, and his father was a _peon_ farmer like me." 

Don Diego nodded. "Do you know his name, _señor_? The name of his family?" 

The peasant shook his head. "He had no other family, and no one here wants him. Take him with you and leave us in peace, _caballero_!" Without another word, he turned and left. 

With a sigh, Diego entered the hut. Señor Spencer rose to his feet. "I overheard your conversation with that _peon_ ," he said, quietly. "He's probably right. If the men we hired don't have any news when they come to us, we'll have to take the boy with us." 

Don Diego nodded. "We'd better find him a home, then, hadn't we? Perhaps in California, there'll be someone who will want him." 

Jonathan nodded. "Perhaps. I will pray that someone will." 

Don Diego yawned. "Before we do, though, I'd like to go to the next town and arrange for the purchase of some supplies to send to these people." 

"All right. We will." Jonathan patted Don Diego's shoulder. "Jose has already gone to sleep. We'd better do the same, Diego." 

Diego nodded. Yawning, he lay down on his reed mat and closed his eyes. Within minutes, he fell asleep.


	16. 'Lover of Horses'

"Diego." 

Don Diego turned his head and muttered. A hand gently shook his shoulder. 

"Wake up, Diego. The men you hired yesterday have returned." 

Yawning, Diego opened his eyes and looked into the eyes of his tutor. The young _caballero_ stretched his arms above his head. "Give me a moment to get dressed, _por favor,_ " he said. "Tell them I'll be out shortly." 

Señor Spencer nodded and stepped outside. Don Diego shaved, donned his yellowish-beige jacket and a pair of matching trousers, and tied on a woolen sash. His quality leather boots made tracks in the dirt floor. 

For a moment, Diego paused to glance at the sleeping boy. He lay curled on his reed mat, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. The night before, Diego had draped his cape over the little boy's side; the boy's bare left arm rested on the cape's soft woolen surface. His index finger rested in his mouth. 

Don Diego shook his head at the sight. He didn't yet know how old the boy was, but he was certainly quite old enough to have outgrown such infantile habits. As the _caballero_ bent over to pull the top of the cape over the boy's arms and shoulders, he wrinkled his nose at the smell of the boy's clothes, now folded in a pile near the boy's sleeping mat. He also shook his head at the sight of the scuffed, worn-out sandals, resting on top of the boy's blue shirt. 

_His sandals have just about had it,_ he thought, ruefully. _It won't be much longer, now, until they fall apart. Furthermore, he desperately needs a bath, and his clothes need to be washed._ He sighed. _As do ours._ He turned his attention to combing his coal-black hair. 

When Don Diego looked presentable, he turned to Jose. "While Señor Spencer and I are outside, wake up the boy and see that he gets dressed." 

_"Si, patrón."_

Don Diego stepped outside. He found the man who had rented his hut to them standing at the head of the group of men Diego had hired the day before. 

The _peon_ stepped forward, holding his wide-brimmed straw _sombrero_ in hand. " _Señor,_ we tried," he said. "We asked everyone in camp, but no one even knows the boy's name. He has no relatives here, and no one wants him. I'm afraid his parents are dead, _señor_." 

Sighing, Don Diego nodded. He was saddened, but not surprised. Ever since the unpleasant conversation with the hostile _peon_ the night before, he had expected this news. He and his tutor would just have to take the boy with them. 

Diego reached into his inside jacket pocket to draw out a leather money pouch. He poured several gold _pesos_ into his hand, counted them, and handed it to the man. _"Gracias,"_ he said. "You did your best." 

One by one, he handed several _pesos_ to each man as he stepped forward. When Don Diego had handed the last _peon_ his money, he looked back at the _peon_ who had rented his hut to the four travelers. "We will leave today." 

The _peon_ nodded. Without a word, he followed the others out of sight. Señor Spencer stepped up next to Diego as the men disappeared. 

Jonathan laid a comforting hand on his pupil's shoulder. " _Amigo,_ if I know you, you won't rest until that boy has a home." 

Diego nodded agreement. "Indeed, I won't! That boy is much too young to take care of himself. We'll just have to take him with us to California and find him a home there." 

"And we will. We will certainly try." Jonathan drew his gold pocket timepiece out of his vest pocket. He glanced at it as it gleamed in the early-morning sunlight. "In that case, we'd better be on our way as soon as we can get ready, Diego. We're at least four or five days off schedule, as it is, thanks to the battle that slowed us down, and our errand of mercy's going to slow us down further. So if we're going to stop in the next town to buy supplies for this camp, we can't afford to waste any more time." 

"No, we can't." Don Diego straightened his ruffled sleeves. "But we need to eat, first." 

The two men entered the hut. They found the little boy crouching in the corner, gazing down at his rosary as it dangled from his fingers. 

"The boy is praying," Jose said. "As soon as I got him dressed, he pulled it out of his trousers and started sayin' his prayers." 

Don Diego and Jonathan glanced at each other and smiled. "We won't disturb him, then. Let him finish," Jonathan said. 

Diego nodded agreement. "We will all pray, while the little boy does so. Then we'll eat breakfast and pack the wagon." 

The three men knelt on the dirt floor. Being the good Church of England member that he was, Jonathan did not use a rosary, but the two Catholics did. Out of respect for Señor Spencer's Protestant sensibilities, Don Diego and Jose did not pray out loud. Instead, as they held their rosaries, they said their prayers silently. All three men made the sign of the cross at the beginning and the end of their prayers. 

When the men had finished praying, they looked up. The little boy was gazing at them, sucking his index finger. 

Smiling, Don Diego rose to his feet and approached the boy. He knelt before the child, pulled the boy's finger out of his mouth, and brushed a stray hair out of his brown eyes. Slowly, distinctly, he spoke to the boy, making signs to ensure that the child understood. 

"We can't find any of your relatives," he said. "We can't find anyone here to take you in, either. We are going to take you with us to California and find you a home there. After we eat breakfast, we will pack the wagon and go." 

Don Diego wasn't sure how well the boy had understood him. Somehow, he would have to teach the child to communicate. He patted the boy's shoulder and stood up. 

For breakfast, the four ate cold leftover _tortillas_ , then they repacked the wagon. The little boy lugged small bundles outside and gave them to Jose, who in turn loaded them in the wagon. When they had finished packing, Don Diego lifted the boy up in his arms and set him down in the wagon. 

Jose climbed onto the wagon seat and took hold of the reins. The two gentlemen mounted their horses. Don Diego nodded at Jose, who lifted the reins. 

"Hee- _yah_!" Jose slapped the reins, and the two horses started to pull the wagon. Diego and Jonathan followed on horseback. The early-morning breeze caressed Don Diego's cheek and ruffled his black hair. The cloudless sky had turned bright blue. It was a beautiful morning. 

Don Diego gazed at the little boy as he leaned against the side of the jolting wagon with his head bent down. How he wished he at least knew the boy's name! Communication would be so much easier if he at least had a name to call the boy. 

"Diego? What's wrong?" 

Diego glanced at his cultured British tutor, who gazed at him with concern. The young _caballero_ sighed. "I was just wishing we knew what the boy's name was. It's going to be difficult to establish communication with him unless we know what to call him." 

Jonathan nodded. "When we stop for lunch and _siesta_ , we'll try to find out. If need be--if we can't find out his real name--we'll just have to give him a new one." He paused. "You know, Diego, it's entirely possible that, being a deaf-mute, he doesn't know what it is." 

Don Diego winced. He hoped that wasn't the case. _Surely, if he knows how to pray, he knows his own name,_ he thought. 

When the sun had reached the middle of the sky, the group stopped at a creek to rest. By then, the air had turned hot, making their faces perspire. While Don Diego held the boy in his arms and cuddled him, the other two made lunch. Jose heated some broth while Señor Spencer unpacked some _tortillas_ and filled the canteens with water. All the while, the little boy nestled against Don Diego's chest. Several times, he tried to suck his index finger, but the _caballero_ would pull it out and shake his head. The boy just frowned at him, evidently bewildered. 

As soon as lunch was ready, the three men and the boy sat in a circle and asked the blessing. The men sipped their broth with wooden spoons, but the boy dipped the tip of his _tortilla_ into the broth and bit off that edge. When he had finished off his _tortilla_ , the boy grasped his clay cup with both hands and gulped down the rest of the broth. 

After the group had eaten, Jose washed the cups, pan, and wooden spoons. The men then sat down to rest. "Let's find a creek or stream to camp by, later," Jonathan said. "When we do, we'll take our baths after we make camp." Don Diego nodded agreement. 

The boy rose to his feet and wandered toward the two riding Andalusian horses tethered to a bush. One was a light-brown stallion, and the other was a bay mare. Don Diego swallowed hard. "Let's hope they won't harm or frighten him," he said. 

While Diego and Jonathan watched, the little boy stood gazing at the horses for a long moment. Finally, he approached the stallion and reached out to touch its face. With a _whoosh!_ the horse bumped its face against the boy's forehead, startling him and making him jump backward. 

Don Diego stiffened, and prepared to leap to his feet. He wasn't about to let the horses hurt the boy if he could help it. 

Slowly, cautiously, the little boy approached the stallion again and reached out to stroke its cheek. This time, the horse stood still. The boy slowly rubbed its right cheek with his fingertips. Soon, he was petting the horse on its cheeks, its mane, and its nose. From time to time, the horse nickered. Several times, it nuzzled the boy's hand. 

Don Diego and Jonathan looked at each other and smiled. "Well, the boy seems quite drawn to our horses," Diego said. "He seems to have an affinity with them." 

Señor Spencer nodded agreement. "He certainly does, doesn't he? That's interesting, too, seeing as his family only had a _burro_ and two goats. The one _peon_ who would volunteer any information told me that. But not even he would give me the boy's name or that of his parents." 

Diego nodded, then leaned back to think about that. So far, his efforts to find out the boy's real name hadn't worked. He would have to give the child one. Suddenly, an idea came to him. 

"Señor Spencer, doesn't the name 'Felipe' mean 'lover of horses'?" Don Diego asked. 

Jonathan nodded. " _Si._ And in English, the possessor of that name would be called 'Philip.'" 

"And in French, 'Philippe.'" Don Diego rose to his feet. "That's what we'll call him, then. I think it fits him." 

The _caballero_ strode toward the boy. He touched the child's shoulder, then turned him around to face Diego. "Nice horse," he said, slowly. He paused, then said again, "Nice horse." He patted the horse's neck. 

The boy nodded. Smiling, he rubbed the horse's other cheek. 

Diego led him back to the tree. Squatting on the ground, he patted the ground next to him. The boy plopped down next to Diego and crossed his legs, Indian-style. 

Don Diego rested his hand on his chest. "Diego," he said. "Diego." 

The little boy gazed at him intently. Diego repeated the name. The boy's face brightened. 

"Diego?" he mouthed. 

The _caballero_ nodded. Slowly, he said, "Diego de la Vega. Diego de la Vega." 

The boy mouthed the words after Diego had spoken them. Don Diego nodded approvingly. 

"Don Diego de la Vega." 

The boy mouthed the phrase. 

Don Diego smiled his approval. _"Bueno! Muy bueno."_ He gazed at the boy. "You know, _amigo,_ we need a name to call you. _Como si llamo?_ " 

The little boy just sat there and gazed uncomprehendingly. Diego repeated the question, slowly and distinctly. Sadness welled up in the child's expressive brown eyes, and he lowered his head. 

Leaning forward, Don Diego cupped his fingertips under the boy's cheek. He raised the boy's face until he was gazing back at Diego. "I'm going to give you a name," Diego said. He pointed at the boy. "Felipe." He paused. "Fe- _li_ -pe." He pronounced the name slowly. "Felipe." 

The boy's eyes lit up in recognition. He nodded vigorously. Beaming, Don Diego hugged him. 

"Then, Felipe it is!" He swiveled his head to glance at Jonathan and Jose. "It appears to be the boy's name; he reacted with recognition when I spoke it." 

Señor Spencer and Jose glanced at each other and chuckled. "That is good news!" Jonathan drew his gold timepiece out of his vest pocket and looked at it. "We'd better be on our way, Diego." 

The men repacked the food crate and loaded it onto the wagon. Don Diego lifted Felipe and set him down next to the crate. A few minutes later, they were on their way. Diego's heart felt light. It would be some time before the boy could communicate with any degree of proficiency, but at least a start had been made. Now he had a name to be called by, and he knew Diego's name. Don Diego smiled with satisfaction at his tutor, who smiled back.


	17. Lip-Reading and Sign Language, Nightmares and Flashbacks

"Run, Felipe!" 

Felipe gaped at his mother in horror. She gestured toward the pushcart. "We got to get out of here! Run, _mijo_! Get in the pushcart!" 

Juan appeared just as Felipe and his mother reached the pushcart. With a grunt, he lifted the boy up and set him in the cart. "Push!" he ordered his wife. 

Felipe scanned the environment. Soldiers and terrified peasants darted everywhere. Rifle and musket shots and cannonblasts rang in Felipe's ears. Thick clouds of dust covered the area, choking Felipe. He coughed and coughed. 

"Mommy!'" Felipe turned toward his mother. "Where are we goin'—" 

_Boom!_

"Mommy!" Felipe screamed. "Papá!" 

Felipe shot up on his reed mat and screamed soundlessly, his eyes squeezed shut. _No, Papá!_ he thought. _Please don't be mad at me! I'll be good._ Por favor, _don't hurt me!_

A second later, arms clasped him to a chest. Hands patted his back, as the arms rocked him back and forth. The now-familiar clean, spicy smell wafted toward his nose. 

_I hate these awful dreams,_ Felipe thought, crying. _They scare me!_

Gradually, Felipe's terror subsided. He opened his eyes to see who was comforting him. Don Diego smiled at him comfortingly and kissed his forehead. The crescent moon hung suspended above them in a sky dotted with glittering stars. 

The little boy sighed in relief. So far, none of the three men had ever scolded or punished him for having a nightmare. They just held him tightly and rocked him, as Don Diego was doing now. 

Don Diego kissed the boy's soft cheek. Felipe closed his eyes and nestled against the kind _don_. As Don Diego rocked him, sleep gradually overtook Felipe. 

Suddenly, Felipe opened his eyes. Señor Spencer was shaking his shoulder. Don Diego had taught Felipe the names of his two companions the evening after they had left the refugee camp, a week before. Ever since, all three had been teaching him to lip-read, and to communicate with them. Felipe knew, now, that the older man was not Felipe's father, but taught him lessons (whatever that meant). 

"Wake up, Felipe." The gentleman spoke slowly so Felipe would understand him. "Time to get up, _muchacho_." 

Felipe nodded and rose to his feet. For a moment, he yawned and sleepily rubbed his eyes. The orange sun had just risen above the horizon. The little boy rolled up his sleeping mat and carried it to the wagon. 

Don Diego picked up a twig and approached Felipe. He handed Felipe the twig. "Firewood." He touched the twig. "Fetch firewood. Go get some wood." He spoke slowly. 

Felipe fixed his attention on Don Diego's lips. As the _caballero_ repeated his request, the boy understood. _Oh,_ he thought. _He wants me to get some wood._ Felipe nodded and turned around. 

Twigs and branches lay scattered underneath the tree he had slept under. He bent over to pick some up. When he had gathered up a bundle, he lugged the twigs toward the campfire and handed them to Jose. The driver nodded, smiled, and patted his shoulder. 

Felipe leaned against the tree to watch the men. While Jose arranged the firewood, Jonathan Spencer picked up several _tortillas_. Don Diego filled the canteens with water from the river they were camping next to. 

_I wish I could still hear and talk,_ Felipe thought ruefully. _Why can't I? Will I ever be able to talk and hear again?_ He sighed and looked down at his bare feet. His worn-out sandals had fallen apart two days before. He slid down the tree till he had plopped on the ground. For a moment, he ran his fingers through the soft dirt, then leaned against the trunk to watch the men fix breakfast. The trunk's rough bark pressed his cotton shirt against his back. 

From the day they'd left the refugee camp, Felipe had been determined to learn to understand these men. If he could learn to read their lips, at least he wouldn't be so cut off from human contact as he had previously been. Slowly, he was learning to understand speech again by watching lips. Often, the men had to repeat their questions and rephrase them repeatedly before he could understand them, but he was slowly acquiring the skill. 

Felipe was also learning to communicate without talking. He had learned that if he used gestures and facial expressions to say what he wanted to say, sometimes his companions would understand him. Unfortunately, there was precious little, as yet, that he could say with signs, so most of his thoughts had to stay hidden in his breast. The three men spent a great deal of time communicating with him when they weren't on the road. (The only exception had been when they'd stopped overnight in a village to visit the local priest, and to buy food and other supplies for the _peons_ in the camp they'd left. During the day and night they had spent in that _pueblo_ , they'd been too busy to talk to Felipe.) No doubt, they would speak to him again very soon. 

_I like Don Diego,_ Felipe thought. _He sure is a lot nicer than Papá. And Don Esteban!_ The little boy mulled that over. _He's like Godfather Lopez. He's nice, like him._

Don Esteban de la Curillo, his parents' _patrón_ , had been mean-spirited, snobbish, high-and-mighty, and supercilious. The little boy had heard many horror stories of Don Esteban's treatment of his _peons_. The _caballero_ had exploited, overworked, underpaid, and abused them all. He had cared nothing for their welfare. The other _caballeros_ in San Miguel weren't much better, if any. Until meeting Don Diego and Señor Spencer, Felipe hadn't known that any _dons_ could be kind and good. Certainly, he wouldn't have imagined that a _don_ would take pity on _peons_ and take action to ease their suffering, as these gentlemen had done for the refugees in that camp! Or, for that matter, for Felipe himself. 

Felipe thought about some of the horror stories he had heard in the past...how Don Esteban would order his overseer to whip an uncooperative _peon_...how he would refuse to let a struggling _peon_ have any food...how he would sometimes visit _peons'_ families for the the sole purpose of assaulting and ravishing the women and older girls...and how Don Esteban would sometimes have a _peon_ jailed for no good reason at all. He had done that to Juan, once, the year before. 

_Even Mommy,_ Felipe thought, shivering. _He tried to hurt her, once. Before I was born._

Felipe remembered a talk his mother and godfather had once had about that incident, months before... 

_"Don Esteban's a cruel man." Godfather Lopez shook his head. "He treats us like dirt, then turns around and acts like he's doin' us a favor, just lettin' us live." He pursed his lips and shook his head. For a moment, he gazed at the new stalks of corn just rising out of the ground. The two families were sitting outside the Lopez hut, enjoying the early-spring weather and chatting._

_Consuela sighed. "He tried to ravish me once, years ago. Before Felipe was born." She glanced at her son as she spoke. "Thank Heavens I was able to escape and hide till he left!" She brushed back her long hair as she spoke._

_Paco touched her arm. "You were lucky. There've been so many women who didn't get away."_

_"I know." Consuela glanced down at Felipe as she spoke and shuddered. Felipe leaned against her side and scratched his neck._

_Juan pressed his lips into a tight line. "Good thing he's never been back to us since. I hope he never does!" He spat on the ground, to show what he thought of Don Esteban._

 _Felipe looked at Rafael and shuddered. He hoped Don Esteban never would either..._

A hand gently touched his shoulder. Startled, Felipe raised his head to see who had come up to him. Don Diego smiled as he bent over. 

"It's time for breakfast, _muchacho_." Don Diego spoke slowly. "Do you understand me?" 

Felipe nodded. He followed Don Diego toward the campfire, where the group asked the blessing. Silently, Felipe prayed, _Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty through Christ our Lord. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost, amen._ Making the sign of the cross, Felipe raised his head. 

"Felipe, how old are you?" Señor Spencer spoke slowly, handing Felipe a _tortilla_ and a cup of hot chicken broth as he did so. 

Felipe understood the question. He laid his _tortilla_ on his leg and set his cup on the ground, then slowly counted his fingers. He held up seven fingers for the men to see. 

"You are seven years old?" Don Diego held up seven fingers of his own. Felipe nodded, then picked up his _tortilla_. As he munched on it, he glanced down at his clothes. At the mission they'd stayed at, the priest had ordered Felipe's clothes washed, and those of the three men he was traveling with. He and the men had taken baths while there, the second baths they'd had since leaving the _peons'_ camp. His clothes were wrinkled and threadbare, but at least, they were cleaner than before, and he smelled much better now. 

The men and Felipe ate silently. After breakfast, they repacked the wagon and left. 

As the days turned into weeks, they traveled farther and farther north. The large areas of grass and trees disappeared, to be replaced by endless stretches of bare dirt and sand, cactuses, and Jericho trees. Often, Don Diego sat in the wagon with Felipe and the horse followed the wagon. During those times, Don Diego would talk to Felipe, to develop his lip-reading and sign language abilities. As a result, Felipe's proficiency in both skills improved steadily. 

Once a week, they stopped to wash their clothes. On those days, they would bathe in the river, using bars of soap Felipe had never seen before. They also made Felipe bathe as well, using those same soap bars. Felipe would sniff it at those times; the soap smelled so good! 

"My father and Señor Spencer and I use this soap," Diego explained, slowly and carefully. "We use it to clean our bodies." Felipe nodded. 

When Felipe had developed enough lip-reading skills to be able to understand his companions' speech, for the most part, Don Diego told the boy that they were going to take him to California. Felipe remembered the story Padre Pablo had told him and Rafael about Fray Junipero Serra. 

"California is a territory north of Mexico. My father and I live there. When we arrive in California, we're going to find someone there to take you in," Don Diego said. It was the _siesta_ hour, and Felipe was sitting on the kind _caballero's_ lap. Rain clouds were slowly approaching their campsite. "To love you and raise you." Don Diego smiled affectionately. 

Felipe gazed at him, raising his eyebrows. Who? 

Don Diego smiled ruefully. "I don't know, _amigo_." He ruffled the boy's hair. "We'll just have to go from village to village and mission to mission, to find out." 

Felipe fidgeted. The mere thought of having to live with total strangers in an unfamiliar place made him uneasy. He glanced up at the gathering storm clouds. 

Suddenly, a fork of lightning streaked through the sky. In the next instant, the ground jumped. Felipe screamed soundlessly and clutched Don Diego's neck. In that instant, he was transported back to that awful battle in his mind's eye. 

Soldiers surrounded him, firing their rifles and muskets. He just froze on the battlefield, terror-stricken. "Mommy! Papá!" he screamed. 

Arms enfolded him, clasped him tightly to a chest, and lifted him in the air. Who was that? Mamá? Was she carrying him away from the battlefield? 

Lips pressed against his cheek. Arms rocked him in a soothing rhythm. Gradually, Felipe remembered where he was. He was not at that battle, and his parents were dead. He was with Don Diego and the other two men. Slowly, slowly, Felipe relaxed. Finally, he nestled against the _caballero's_ chest. He burrowed his nose into a ruffled, finely-woven linen shirt. Its light, clean, spicy scent filled his nostrils. 

A moment later, Felipe opened his eyes. Don Diego smiled, relief evident in his blue eyes. "You're safe, _amigo_." He kissed the boy's forehead. "There's no battle here. It's going to rain, soon, so I want you to sit right here with me, all right? I'll do my best to keep you dry." Felipe nodded his acquiescence. 

Diego kissed his soft cheek. "You're a brave boy, Felipe. My tutor and Jose and I have all seen that." 

Felipe smiled his appreciation of the _caballero's_ praise. It comforted him to know that he could be brave. He'd been forced to draw on his courage throughout his horrific ordeal. He still had to do so, to deal with his nightmares. 

Don Diego caressed his cheek. "Felipe, pay careful attention to what I'm saying. Señor Spencer and I will do everything in our power to ensure that the people we give you to will be kind, good people. You have our promise." 

Felipe nodded. He didn't like the idea, but he had no choice. He had known from the beginning that he couldn't live with these people. Why, they were _caballeros--criollos_! 

Felipe smiled wryly as he glanced down at his trouser-clad legs and his dirty bare feet. Until these men had found him lost on the desert, he had never been so close to a _caballero_ in his life. None had even talked to him or his parents, let alone touch him. He wouldn't have dared to even approach one, let alone talk to him. Needless to say, he himself had _never_ touched the clothes of a rich gentleman--now he was touching them every day! Now, one would hold Felipe in his lap, hug him, kiss his forehead, pat or shake his shoulder, and touch him in other ways. 

Felipe ran his fingers over Don Diego's fine woolen _charro_ jacket, then fingered the ruffles on the silky-smooth linen sleeve. The cloth of both garments felt much smoother and softer, and looked prettier than the clothes he, his parents, and his godparents had always worn. They smelled different, too--unlike the clothes of a _peon_ , the clothes Don Diego and Señor Spencer wore had a clean, light, spicy scent. It was a fact of life that _caballeros_ and _peons_ dressed differently, Felipe knew. _Are_ caballeros _in California different from them in San Miguel?_ he wondered. 

Unfortunately, that was not the last time Felipe had a "day-mare." It hit him again and again, when he wasn't expecting it. If he saw a passing soldier on horseback, a desert plant, a lightning bolt during a rare thunderstorm, he would suddenly re-experience the awful battle in his mind again. While it happened, he could almost hear the deafening cannonblasts, the gunshots, the shouts, the terrified screams. In his mind, he could hear his own voice, too, as he screamed shrilly for help. 

Gradually, he would become aware of arms around him--arms enfolding him, clasping him to a chest--hands gently patting his back. Felipe would then become aware of a rocking sensation. He would press his nose into a ruffled shirt, as the gentleman, whether it was Don Diego or Señor Spencer, rocked him in an effort to bring him back to reality. Eventually, Felipe would pray silently, asking God to help him to not be afraid. 

When Felipe had recovered from his terror, Don Diego would tell him stories of his own boyhood and of his father. To his delight, Felipe discovered that Don Diego was as talented a storyteller as Godfather Lopez. 

The _caballero_ told him stories of his own mother, Doña Elena Felicidad de la Vega, daughter of a Spanish nobleman and a distant relative of the King of Spain, Ferdinand VII. She had died some years before. Diego would tell the little boy stories of his own father, Don Alejandro, who was himself a friend of the King and the Spanish royal family, a respected elder in Los Angeles and the leader of the _caballeros_ , and a kind, good man. About Señor Spencer and how he had taught Diego everything in the books from the time Diego was seven years old. About his uncle's recent fatal illness and death, and how Diego and his two companions had happened to run into the battle that had killed Felipe's parents. Felipe always paid attention to Diego's stories with rapt interest, fixing his eyes on Don Diego's face so he would understand what the _don_ was saying. 

_Don Diego tells stories as good as Godfather Lopez,_ the little boy thought. _He sure is different from Papá!_

Every day, during _siesta_ , while Felipe petted the horses, Don Diego would pick up what appeared to be a book, dip a quill pen into what Diego had once told him was ink, and start writing on one of its crisp white pages. Felipe would wonder what he was writing. When Diego put the book and quill pen down, he would pick up another book, thumb through its pages till he found the section he wanted, and read it. Felipe would wonder what the book said. Felipe had never been taught to read or write, nor had his parents or godparents. Neither the Cortezes nor the Lopezes had ever had any books or writing materials. 

_Why does Don Diego like to do that stuff?_ Felipe wondered. _Why does he like to read and write? It can't be no fun. Can it?_ He wrinkled his nose at the thought. 

Every night, after supper, Felipe would draw out his rosary and silently say his prayers. The men would follow his lead. When it was time to sleep, Felipe would kneel on his sleeping mat and silently say his bedtime prayers. 

All the while, Don Diego worried and worried about whether it would be possible to find Felipe a home. Sometimes, he would glance at his tutor, and would see that Señor Spencer was worried, too. 

One afternoon, during _siesta_ , Señor Spencer sighed. Don Diego glanced down at Felipe, who sat next to him, and told him to get up. 

"I need to speak with my tutor, Felipe." With a nod, the boy scrambled to his feet and approached the horses. 

Don Diego rose to his feet and approached Jonathan. "You look worried." 

Jonathan nodded. "I hate to say this, Diego, but it's going to be quite difficult to find the boy a home. _Any_ home." He sighed. "He has several strikes against him. For one, he's seven years old. Most people prefer children much younger, preferably babies. For another, he's been sick, and he's still frail. That will make it difficult for him to engage in farm work." 

The tutor paused, shaking his head. "Then there's his handicap and his illiteracy. He can't speak or hear, read or write. That's going to discourage others from trying to communicate with him. On top of all that, Felipe has frequent nightmares and flashbacks. Whoever takes him in will have nights of interrupted sleep and times spent during the day trying to bring him out of a flashback. All that is going to make it quite hard to find someone who will be willing to take on the responsibility of raising him." He reached into his inside coat pocket for his linen handkerchief and wiped his sweaty face. 

Don Diego sighed and nodded. In his heart, he could only agree. "Nevertheless, we have to try. It won't be long now before we reach California; surely by then, we'll have had the time we need to build Felipe's strength up and increase his communication skills." He scratched his arm. "In the few weeks we've had him, look how much stronger and more proficient he's become. He's so gentle, affectionate, devout..." Diego's voice trailed off. 

Jonathan nodded. "He is, indeed. He's very easy to love, as you and Jose and I have discovered. But those who don't know him are going to blinded to his good qualities by those other factors." 

Don Diego nodded. "What do you suggest, then?" 

Señor Spencer shrugged. "The only thing we can do. Go all over California, if we have to, and pray hard. The first order of business is to reach California. We'll cross that other bridge when we come to it. If we have to, we'll leave him at a mission or an orphanage." He smiled. "I didn't mean to discourage you, Diego, or to imply that we should give up. But I do want you to know what we're going to be up against." 

Diego nodded again. _"Gracias."_ He gazed at Felipe. "We'll just have to try all the harder, then. And pray as hard as we can." Jonathan nodded agreement. 

The two men rose to their feet to help Jose reload the wagon. Silently, Don Diego prayed that God would grant them success.


	18. A Letter and San Diego

"Well, Diego, we have entered California." Señor Spencer sighed with satisfaction. 

Don Diego gazed at San Diego in the distance and smiled. "What a relief! It's been such a long journey." 

Jonathan nodded agreement. "It certainly has." He drew his linen handkerchief out of his vest pocket and wiped his face. "After a full month of traveling up here from Guadalajara, it feels great to be back in our own territory, does it not?" 

Don Diego leaned against the boulder he was using as a backrest. It certainly did! They had been away from Los Angeles since spring, and now Diego was eager to get home. But first, he and the others had a responsibility to fulfill. 

Felipe leaned against the _caballero's_ side, sucking his index finger. Shaking his head, Diego gently grasped the boy's hand as he had done many times during their journey. From the day they had left the refugee camp, the young _don_ had been trying hard to break Felipe of the habit. 

Reluctantly and sullenly, Felipe complied. It was evident that he did not understand why Don Diego and Señor Spencer did not approve and would not let him suck his fingers as he had done all his life. 

"Only babies and little children suck their fingers and thumbs," Don Diego told the boy, as he had done repeatedly. "You're getting to be a big, grown-up boy, now." He ruffled the boy's hair and smiled. 

He wrapped his arm around Felipe's shoulders and hugged him to his side. As Felipe gazed down at his hands, Don Diego, in turn, gazed down at him. Now that they had reached California, they would have to start looking for someone to take him in. 

_If Señor Spencer's right, it's going to take a long time,_ Don Diego thought. _My father will become worried that we're taking so long to return. It's September, now, and we've been gone since spring._

Frowning, he pondered that. Diego did not want to worry his father if he could help it. Somehow, he had to let Don Alejandro know what had happened and what they were in the process of doing, so the aged _don_ would know why they were taking so long to return home. 

_I'll just have to write Father a letter,_ Don Diego thought. _I'll post it in San Diego._

"Jose," he said, aloud, "bring me some writing materials. I've got to write a letter to my father." 

_"Si, señor."_

Diego told Felipe to get up, because he had to write a letter. By then, the little boy had developed adequate lip-reading and sign language skills, so he understood Don Diego immediately. He scrambled to his feet and ambled toward the horses. Don Diego chuckled. Every chance he had, Felipe petted the horses. Sometimes, Jose would let him groom one of them, under his own supervision. Felipe had yet to ride one of the horses, though. 

Don Diego frowned, puzzled. For a boy who so loved to spend time with their horses, Felipe had yet to ask to be allowed to ride one. Their size scared him away from the idea, no doubt. 

Jose opened one of the crates and drew out a solid-gold inkpot, a collection of quill pens, and a sheaf of blank parchment. He grasped Diego's laptop desk and set the writing materials on it. Carefully, he lifted the desk up and carried it to his _patrón_. 

_"Gracias."_ Don Diego smiled. He dipped one of the quill pens into the India ink. Furrowing his eyebrows in concentration, he wrote the salutation. 

_"Dear Father,_

_"At this moment, it is early September, and we are in sight of San Diego. We are all well, and Señor Spencer sends you his regards. My uncle died peacefully in his bed, with all his loved ones gathered around him. My cousin Rafael stayed there to help his brother and their mother sort out the inheritances and other legal matters. He will return to Santa Barbara later. However, it's entirely possible that he will arrive home before we will, Father._

_"A week after we left Guadalajara, we ran into a revolutionary battle. It was a terrible sight, Father; I'm glad you were not there to see it. All the revolutionary soldiers were killed, and so were all the residents of that village and many of the refugees who had gone there from other pueblos. On top of all that, the village itself was set on fire and totally destroyed. We were not hurt, fortunately--we were too far out of the way--but one of the cannon shells exploded so close to our location, it broke one of the wagon wheels. We had to send for a wheelwright to replace the wheel before we could continue our journey, so we were stranded there for three days._

_"When, at last, we were able to leave, we found a little boy lost on the desert, six miles from the site of the battle. He's only seven years old, and he cannot speak or hear. We're calling him Felipe, and we have reason to suspect that is his legal name. His parents were killed in the battle, and he appears to have no living relatives in that vicinity. All we were able to learn was that his late father was a peon--a tenant farmer--who resided south of that area. His parents owned a burro and two goats, we learned, and they lived in a wattle-and-daub hut. We have brought him with us to California, and we're going to try to find him a home before we return to Los Angeles._

_"The poor boy has been quite traumatized by his ordeal. He has nightmares about the battle at night and flashbacks by day, and he grieves and cries for his dead parents. He was half-starved and sick when we found him, and he's still frail, though much stronger now than he was at first. He is slowly learning to communicate with sign language and lip-reading. He has nothing in the world but the clothes on his back and a rosary which his mother seems to have bequeathed him. He prays with it daily, and without being told to do so. His sandals fell apart weeks ago, so he's been going barefoot since. We will have to get him a new pair in San Diego._

_"We have no idea how long it will take to find Felipe a home. Señor Spencer and I fear it will be a long search, because the odds against finding someone who will agree to take on the responsibility are great. But we are determined to try. Please ask the good padre to pray for our success, Father. We'll come home as soon as we've completed our mission._

_"With love,_

_Diego."_

Sighing, Diego opened his laptop desk and drew out an envelope. He waited a few minutes for the ink to dry, then he folded the letter and inserted it into the envelope. He wrote the name and location on the envelope, then laid the envelope in the desk. 

_Señor Spencer is right,_ he thought. _I_ won't _rest until Felipe has a home somewhere. With someone._ He smiled wryly. _If my father were here, he'd be doing the same thing. He's such a kind, good, compassionate man, and he truly cares about people._

When the men had re-packed the wagon, they left the campsite. Not long afterward, they reached San Diego. As they pulled up in front of the tavern, a coach rolled into town. The coach driver stopped alongside the supply wagon. 

Don Diego opened his laptop desk, pulled out his letter, and approached the driver. " _Señor,_ are you going to Los Angeles?" 

The man wiped his sunburned, leathery face. _"Si, señor."_

Diego glanced down at the envelope. "Would you please take this letter there? It's addressed to my father, Don Alejandro de la Vega. Please leave it in the care of the innkeeper, Señorita Victoria Escalante." 

Nodding, the driver reached for the envelope. Diego handed it to him. "I will deliver the letter, _señor,_ " the man promised. 

Diego turned to the others. "Well, let's see if we can find Felipe a home here, shall we?" 

Over the next two days, they did just that, and they spent that night and the next in the tavern. Don Diego and Jonathan slept in one room, in a double bed; Jose and Felipe slept in another room (Jose on a single-size bed, Felipe on a reed mat spread on the floor). During their visit there, they asked the priest to get a new pair of sandals for Felipe. Diego took Felipe to farm after farm, while the other men approached the villagers who lived in town. 

To Don Diego's dismay, but not his surprise, none of them succeeded in their quest. The three men enlisted the priest's help and the _alcalde's_ , to make the process go faster. Even though they presented the boy in the best light and emphasized his good points, no one wanted the responsibility of raising Felipe. The priest argued that the mission was too full of orphaned children to hold any more; the peasants were scared off by the boy's handicap. Diego offered each family a regular stipend of money, so the cost of supporting Felipe would not hurt them financially. Not even that offer persuaded them. 

"This little boy needs a home," Don Diego would explain, glancing down at Felipe, as they stood in front of an _adobe_ hut. "His parents were killed in Mexico a month ago, and he has no other relatives that we know of." 

The farmer would shake his head. "I got my own family to feed, _señor_. I can't afford no more." 

Diego would nod. "Would you do it if I offered to pay for his expenses? My father would send you money every month, to do so." 

The farmer would shake his head. " _Gracias,_ but no. I got enough _niños_ to look after, now." 

Diego and Felipe endured that scenario as they approached farmer after farmer. After two days of searching, the three men decided it was time to move on. 

"We'll go to San Ysidro and try there," Jonathan said. "If we can't find Felipe a home in any of the _pueblos_ and missions south of Los Angeles, we'll go straight to Monterey and work south from there." 

Don Diego nodded agreement. He gazed at the boy, asleep on the floor of the room the little boy was sharing with Jose, and sighed. "Felipe's such a sweet, gentle, lovable boy. It's such a shame that _anybody_ would harden their hearts against him because of his age or his handicap." 

His tutor nodded agreement. "I agree, Diego, but those things are all they can see. That and the fact that they'd be responsible for him. They just don't want that responsibility." 

Don Diego sighed. "We _must_ find him a home. Somewhere! Surely, somewhere in California resides _someone_ who is kind and good, and who loves children. I don't see how anyone could help loving that child." 

Jonathan chuckled. "Well, let's see if our own affection for the boy makes any difference in softening their hard hearts. In the meantime, we need to go to bed, Diego. We've got a long ride tomorrow." He glanced down at Felipe's new sandals. "At least, he no longer has to travel barefoot, thank goodness." 

Diego nodded agreement. He had wanted to have a pair made for Felipe when the group had stopped to purchase supplies for the refugee _peons_ , but they had been too rushed for time to do so. 

Jose entered the room, and Diego and Jonathan said good-night to him. Going to their own room, the two gentlemen proceeded to get ready for bed. As he donned his linen nightshirt, Don Diego pondered their dilemma. Would their affection for Felipe soften anyone's heart?


	19. Rejection

In the weeks that followed, the answer to Jonathan's question appeared to be a firm "no." 

After exhausting the _pueblos_ and missions south of Los Angeles, they went straight to Monterey, camping at night along the way. Once there, they visited the church, the orphanage, and every poor person who lived there. They didn't bother to visit any of the _caballeros_ , because they hoped to get Felipe a family of his own, and the best he could hope for in a _caballero's_ home was to work as a servant. 

As had been the case in San Diego and the other southern villages, the church and the orphanage had no room, and none of the poor families wanted the responsibility, even though Don Diego offered each one he spoke to a stipend to cover Felipe's expenses. At one point during their stay in Monterey, Don Diego paid a call on the governor. 

The men and the little war refugee then slowly traveled southward, stopping at each town or mission. They would stay for a few days at each one, to make inquiries and to have their clothes washed, including Felipe's. While they were there, they would also ask the local priest to send word to Mexico that Felipe was in California, in case he did, in fact, have any living relatives left who would come to get him. 

At each place they visited, the results were the same: no one would take Felipe in. No one wanted to be responsible for a strange, sickly, deaf-mute boy, no matter how sweet or appealing or well-behaved he was. Not even Diego's offer to provide them money to support the little boy changed their minds. 

All the while, he and the others talked with Felipe on a regular basis. Not a day went by when they didn't take turns engaging him in conversation. They were determined not to let his budding communication skills wither through neglect. Felipe's communication skills continued to slowly improve. 

Every night, the four of them would gather for prayer. Felipe would silently pray with his rosary, as would Diego and Jose; all three would examine their consciences as they did so. Unfortunately, not even their combined prayers could soften any of the people Felipe's guardians approached on his behalf, nor could they stop the incessant nightmares and flashbacks Felipe continued to suffer. 

The terrifying nightmares plagued Felipe every night. Each time he had one, Diego would wake him up and hold him tightly until the terror had passed. Whenever the boy had a flashback, Diego followed the same procedure. 

Don Diego refused to give up. He was bound and determined to find the little boy a home with someone who would love him and raise him and care for him. Felipe, on the other hand, was growing steadily more discouraged. He did not fail to see that no one wanted to raise him, and he began to question whether anybody ever would. Concerned about his morale, the men did their best to bolster his spirits and his determination. 

"Felipe, you're a sweet, fine boy," Don Diego would tell him. "Someone will want you; I promise you that. I guarantee it! We will _not_ give up until you have someone to love you and look after you." 

He would hug Felipe at that point, and kiss him on the cheek or the forehead. Felipe would nestle against him. 

One day, the group arrived at the Mission San Fernando. Jonathan sighed. "Well, Diego, it's been two months, now, since we arrived in California." He glanced at the mission and sighed. "November has just started, and we still haven't found Felipe a home." 

"I know." Diego glanced at his gold pocket timepiece as it gleamed in the sunlight. "This is our last stop before going to Los Angeles. You may as well come inside with us, Jose. The horses are safe." 

The three men took Felipe inside the church, where a priest approached them. Diego glanced at the two rows of high-backed wooden benches that stretched the length of the sanctuary. At the other end of the room, a gold statue of Mary shone in the candlelight. 

"What can I do for you, my children?" The priest smiled. 

Don Diego smiled back. "I'm Diego de la Vega, and this is my tutor, Jonathan Spencer. Perhaps you don't remember me, _Padre_ ; I've been here before with my father, Don Alejandro." 

The priest smiled broadly as recognition lit up his eyes. " _Si,_ I remember you, now. How is your good father?" 

"By now, he should be back in his usual excellent health. He was recovering from a serious illness when my tutor, our driver, and I left for Guadalajara last spring." 

"Your tutor, you say?" The priest glanced at Jonathan. 

Diego nodded. " _Si._ He came from England to take charge of my education, when I was the same age as this little boy, here. Señor Spencer is an excellent tutor, and he has taught me well." Jonathan nodded with a smile. 

The priest smiled back. "I'm sure he has. What can I help you with, Diego?" 

Diego and Jonathan told him about Felipe's predicament. The priest listened attentively until they finished. 

"God bless you, my sons, for caring so much for this child's welfare." The priest smiled down at Felipe. He then sighed, as sadness crossed his face. "And don't I wish I could do as you've asked!" 

He ruffled the boy's hair. "There's no room here." Felipe hung his head. "My church is overflowing with children who have been orphaned. I have to find apprenticeships for many of them, because I've got more than I can decently care for. This boy needs someone who can care for him properly and see that he continues to develop his communication skills. My assistant priest and I don't have time to do that." 

Don Diego and Señor Spencer glanced at each other and sighed. _"Gracias, Padre."_ Diego paused. "In every place we've stopped, we've asked the priest there to send word to Mexico. It's just possible he has relatives we don't know about. If anybody comes here asking for him, would you refer that person to my father and me?" 

"Certainly." The priest nodded. _"Vaya con Dios."_

The _padre_ made the sign of the cross over each man's forehead, then smiled encouragingly at Felipe and blessed him. Felipe did not smile back. 

A morass of misery had welled up in Felipe when the priest had spoken those hateful words: "There's no room here." As he trudged out the door, he wiped a tear from his eye. The gentlemen took him away. As he read their lips, the men decided to move the wagon elsewhere, take their _siesta_ on the desert, then go on to Los Angeles. 

Felipe paid no further attention to their plans. He was too miserable, too depressed. He just couldn't take any more. He had been taken to every village, every church, and every orphanage in California. No one wanted him, and no one would ever want him! 

He leaned against the side of the wagon and gazed for a long moment at the three men. They were too deep in discussion to pay any attention to him. Suddenly, he wandered away. He couldn't bear any more rejection. He'd had enough. 

The little boy paid no attention to his surroundings. He slowed down after a time, engrossed in his own inner turmoil. As the hours passed, he just trudged on and on. He didn't stop. Repeatedly, he raised his arm to take a swipe at the beads of sweat rolling down his forehead. 

_No one wants me,_ he thought. _No one!_

Finally, he was too exhausted to keep walking. His limbs felt heavy and sore. He stopped next to a huge boulder, slid down its side, and plopped to the ground. The little boy buried his face in his hands and wept. 

At last, his sobs subsided. He raised his head and wiped his face with the back of his hand, sniffling. As he glanced down at his sandals, he froze. 

A snake lay in rows of coils next to his left foot, poised to strike. It had raised its head above its body, and it didn't move. Felipe had been taught that some snakes were poisonous, and would kill if they bit. 

_What will I do if it bites me?_ he thought, as beads of cold sweat rolled down his face. _Will I die?!_

Minute after agonizing minute passed, as he sat frozen. Until that snake left him, he didn't dare move. Por favor, _God, make it go away,_ he prayed silently. _Please, please, please!_

Suddenly, the snake's head exploded in pieces. A musket ball bounced into the sand. The terrified boy squeezed his eyes shut. 

Hands grabbed him by the waist and lifted him into the air. Arms clasped him against a chest and hugged him tightly; the by-now-familiar scent of men's cologne wafted toward his nostrils, mixed with the clean spicy scent and the smell of fragrant soap. When the hands let go and set him on the ground, Felipe opened his eyes and gazed into Don Diego's. The _caballero's_ face looked haggard and deeply worried, yet relieved. Felipe glanced to his side. Jonathan Spencer stood next to him, and his expression looked the same. His right hand grasped a smoking pistol. 

"Felipe, you had us worried sick!" Kneeling before Felipe, Don Diego hugged the little boy tightly, then leaned back. "Don't _ever_ run off like that again! It's not safe for a little boy to be alone on the desert. There are all kinds of beasts that roam on it, including poisonous snakes." 

He gripped Felipe's shoulder. "Pay attention, _por favor_. I know you're discouraged and you think that no one will ever want you. Believe me, someone _will_. You will have a home, come what may. I promise you that." 

Reluctantly, Felipe nodded. He didn't really believe it anymore, but he knew they were determined to keep on trying. Don Diego lifted him up again and carried him back to the wagon. Slowly, as the weary men hiked back to camp, the sun dipped toward the horizon. 

When they had arrived the wagon, they saw that Jose had made camp. The wagon, Felipe noticed, had been moved some distance from the mission; he couldn't even see the church now. " _Gracias,_ Jose." Señor Spencer glanced at the darkening sky. "It's too late to travel any further today, and you and I are too tired, Diego. We'll sleep here, then go to Los Angeles in the morning." 

Don Diego set Felipe down. "We've got much to talk about," he told his tutor. He felt so tired; every muscle ached. He could see that Señor Spencer felt just as exhausted. 

Jonathan nodded. "We certainly do. But not tonight. Right now, we're tired and hungry. Let's eat now, say our prayers, and get some rest tonight, all right? We'll discuss the situation tomorrow." Diego nodded his acquiescence. 

The cultured British tutor turned to the driver. "Jose, prepare our supper, _por favor_." 

Jose nodded and lifted the food crate out of the wagon. As he opened it, Señor Spencer rose to his feet to help him. Don Diego knelt on the ground and held Felipe in his lap.


	20. Next Stop—Los Angeles!

The next morning, Don Diego woke up. To his surprise, the sun had turned blue, but the air still felt cool. He gazed at his tutor, who was sitting against a huge boulder. Jonathan sighed. 

"Bad news, Diego." He gazed at the sky. "Number one, we overslept. I woke up just 15 minutes before you." 

Don Diego rubbed his neck. "I'm not surprised. That long search for Felipe yesterday really wore us out." 

Jonathan nodded agreement. "It certainly did. Number two, Jose has a stomachache. I've made him a potion out of the herbs we brought with us, but it hasn't taken effect, yet." He gestured toward the carriage driver as he spoke. To Diego's dismay, Jose lay curled on his blanket, his left hand clutching his stomach. 

Diego furrowed his eyebrows in concern. "How are you feeling, Jose?" 

"I've felt better." Jose smiled wanly as he lifted his head off his pallet. "Surely I'll be able to drive, soon." 

Nodding, Diego smiled reassuringly. "Of course, you will. We'll stay here until you've recovered." 

The _caballero_ glanced at Felipe, who sat hunched against another boulder, examining an arrowhead he had evidently found. His reed mat lay rolled up next to him. Gazing at the boy, Jonathan chuckled. 

"That boy's been examining that arrowhead for the last 10 minutes. You'd think he'd made a major scientific discovery." 

Don Diego laughed. "To a little boy, everything he finds is a major discovery. I remember when I was that age." 

_"Si."_ Señor Spencer nodded agreement. "Better eat, Diego. The boy and I have already had our breakfast." 

Don Diego ate some cold leftover _tortillas_ and drank some water. He then sank wearily on the ground next to his tutor and leaned against another boulder. With a sigh, Diego gazed at Felipe for a long time. In his heart, he was truly worried. He had begun to fear, the day before, that Felipe might well be right. No one was going to accept him. He didn't even want to think about what the little boy's fate would be if that happened. 

At last, Diego smiled wanly at Jonathan. "I want to thank you for sticking it out with us as you have." He glanced at his timepiece, then gazed at the older man. "You've been so good to follow on this long journey when I know you must have been anxious to return to my father's _hacienda_ and resume my lessons." 

Jonathan smiled back. " _De nada._ I wanted to help the boy, too, Diego, and I still do." He paused. "One vitally important lesson your parents and I have tried to teach you, you learned a long time ago. You have a real heart for the unfortunate. I'm pleased to know that's one lesson I won't have to resume teaching you when we arrive at your house." 

Don Diego smiled his appreciation of his tutor's praise. " _Gracias,_ Señor Spencer." He paused. "Right now, I'm terribly worried. What will we do if no one in Los Angeles will agree to raise him, either?" 

"Diego, you're not a quitter," Jonathan chided. "Where's your faith, _amigo_?" He leaned forward. "You have several advantages in Los Angeles you didn't have in any of those other villages. You have your father, and you have influential friends, all of whom will back you up if they need to. Your father's influence alone will help us out a lot." 

Don Diego nodded. "You're right, Señor Spencer. Thank you for reminding me." He paused. "If I know my father, he will spare no effort to help Felipe, when I explain the situation to him." He sighed. "I just pray that we _will_ succeed when we get home. Poor Felipe! He's so discouraged. We've got to do something!" 

"I know." Jonathan gazed at the boy, who had laid the arrowhead down and drawn his rosary out of his trousers. "If our prayers are answered--and they will be, Diego--that _will_ soon change." 

Diego certainly hoped so. Felipe was just too young to be left on his own. "Perhaps Padre Bernardo will agree to raise him. Maybe his church has room. If not, I'm sure he'll agree to keep Felipe while we conduct our final search for a home in and around Los Angeles." 

"He will. You can count on it." The cultured tutor straightened his ruffled linen sleeves. He adjusted his white silk cravat. 

The group sat in silence after that. After a long time, Jose pushed himself upward into a sitting position. Diego and Jonathan looked at him, concerned. "How are you feeling, now, Jose?" Señor Spencer asked him. 

The driver smiled. "Much better, _patrón. Gracias._ " 

Don Diego and Jonathan smiled back at him, relieved. "That's good news, Jose," Diego said. 

"Indeed, it is," Jonathan agreed. Beads of sweat popped on his forehead as the cultured British tutor spoke. He wiped them off with his handkerchief, then glanced at his shiny gold timepiece. "It's late morning, now, and it'll soon be time to prepare lunch. We'll stay in camp till after _siesta_ , then we'll be on our way." 

He rose to his feet and approached the wagon. Felipe looked at Jose, then at Don Diego, who smiled and extended his arms out to the little boy. Felipe trotted toward him and squatted on the ground next to Diego. The _caballero_ put an arm around the boy's shoulder and gently hugged him to his side. 

"Felipe, somehow, I just know that we'll find you a home in Los Angeles." He rubbed his fingers over the shoulder they rested on. "I have lots of friends there, _amigo,_ and my father has a lot of influence. Together, we will find you someone to take care of you." 

Felipe nodded. 

"Meanwhile, we're going to stay right here till _siesta's_ over. That'll give Jose ample time to completely recover from that stomachache he woke up with. When we find you that home we seek, I'll stop by to see you sometimes and see how you're doing." 

Felipe nodded. He nestled against Don Diego's side. The _caballero_ sighed as he gazed affectionately at the boy. With all his heart, he hoped that he, his father, and their _caballero_ friends would succeed in helping Felipe. He silently prayed for God's blessing on their efforts, and asked the Lord to give Felipe a home of his own, with someone who would love him and raise him properly. Perhaps, in Los Angeles, they would at long last succeed.   
  


**THE END  
**

©1999 by KathyG


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